Divine Insight of the Dragon
by zayjayoriginals
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle, Draco, struggling with his guilt and Lucius' continued machinations, flees the Manor for America. What happens when he finds himself in the muggle world of the Crescent City and meets a mysterious Creole beauty? (Ignores events of Cursed Child) With the exception of my original characters, these belong to J.K. Rowling.
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

 _October 31, 1981-_

 ****Angelique awoke with a start. Kingsley stood in the center of the room holding one hand behind his back, a look of shock on his face. She knew he hadn't expected her to be asleep on the divan in his sitting room. She was also certain that she didn't hear him at the door. She considered herself a very light sleeper, but she never seemed to hear Kingsley come or go. There was something about the gorgeous young man with the heavy gold hoop earring and bedroom eyes that she simply found mysterious. It was likely that which captivated her all the more. Their affair had been something of a surprise to both of them. He wasn't the type of man she was generally attracted to—who was she kidding? Angelique had hardly ever been attracted to any man. She could read them far too well. It was a skill she'd learned from childhood. All of the women in her family were seers. Some more accomplished at the art than others, but none had ever reached the notoriety of her sixth great-grandmother, who was considered by many to be a witch. Angelique greatly doubted this. She'd grown up in the modern world after all, but her innate talent for seeing the innermost desires of others, reading their darkest thoughts with a touch, could not be denied. Her matriarchal family had enjoyed comfortable wealth from telling the fortunes of others, and offering blessings, hope, cures, and resolutions for their "problems". It was a pastime that was as old as the Crescent City she called home. Those rituals, readings, prayers and "spells" paid her way through her undergraduate studies and were funding this trip to London.

The trip was simply a fancy for Angelique. She had just completed her bachelor's degree in Anthropology, and was keen to see the world before she began her graduate studies. England seemed to be calling her name, so that is where she went. She never expected to be completely bowled over as she exited a bookstore on Charing Cross Road.

While most other young men her age were sporting Jheri Curls and dressing like Prince and Michael Jackson, or some preppy up and coming professional, this man seemed to have stepped straight from a painting of Moorish royalty. He wore flowing robes of deep purple, trimmed in gold thread with a matching kufi upon his shaved head. She could tell at once that he was agitated. The air around him seemed to sizzle with nervous energy. Angelique was stunned. It was the first time she felt she could actually _see_ an aura. She stared up at this imposing presence in awe. It took her a moment to come back to herself and accept his outstretched hand and offer of apology. The moment their flesh met—her delicate hand in his large, but gentle grip, a tingle raced up Angelique's spine and an unusual warmth spread through her entire being. Her sixth sense told her that this man would change her life dramatically.

She smiled shyly and waved off his apologies with her own comments about taking better care to watch where she was going. She offered to buy him a cup of coffee or tea, but he declined, stating that he had urgent business to attend. He helped her to gather up the books she'd dropped, allowing their hands to linger a moment as they touched once again. Angelique attempted to hide her disappointment as she stuffed her books into her satchel, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught him looking back at her just before he turned the corner.

For the next several days, Angelique haunted the entrance of the bookstore, hoping to see the handsome African prince once more. Each day, she purchased a newspaper and loitered near the door, one eye trained on passersby as she read. She noticed an odd assortment of people, anachronistically dressed in clothing more reminiscent of 1881 than 1981. She assumed that maybe they were a part of some theatrical group or some such as most people paid little attention to them, and she gave her curiosity over to the series of articles in the newspapers recounting a number of mysterious deaths around the countryside. As she focused on one of these articles detailing the strange occurrences, she nearly missed him approaching from what she had previously assumed was an abandoned building, but as she hadn't been paying attention, presumed that she was mistaken. He wore the standard yuppie casual gear this time—a pair of chinos and loafers. The sleeves of his light-colored Oxford shirt were rolled up to the elbow and a pair of silver-framed aviator glasses hid his eyes. Still, Angelique could not mistake the magical aura that rippled around him.

"Got time for that cuppa today?" she called out, folding her paper as she approached.

"Are you stalking me?" he asked, a look of mild surprise on his face.

"Maybe," she smiled up at him. He lowered his glasses and his lips curved into a sensual smile.

Now she found herself looking up at that same sensual smirk. She was supposed to have returned to New Orleans two months ago. Their affair had come as quite a surprise to both of them. Though she frequently wondered at his odd disappearances—"You're not a criminal are you?" she'd asked him, only somewhat teasingly as they lingered in his amazingly comfortable bed one early morning. He'd chuckled, giving her a squeeze before pulling her onto his chest and softly pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. "I hardly think I have it in me to be a criminal. I care about people too much."

"Ah, then you must work for the government. A spy? MI5?" She smiled, and searched his eyes for a hint that she had found the truth in her questions. His face was strangely unreadable. This was the first man she was completely unable to divine. He smiled and let out his rich, velvety chuckle once more as he allowed one hand to travel down her spine, spreading his fingers across the curve of her lower back and urging her to press her hips into his hard flesh. With the other, he tangled his fingers in her dark curls and pulled her face to his, parting his full lips to take her in.—The memory of that morning of passion flashed briefly across her mind's eye as she looked up at Kingsley now. The anxious energy of his aura had morphed into something else, but his eyes were as unreadable as ever. In that moment, she understood all that he had been hiding from her.

Angelique had felt a nagging sense of foreboding throughout the day. It was deeper than the nausea that had dogged her for the past week. She stood and wrapped her arms around Kingsley, gazing up into his dark eyes. For the first time, she felt his guard slip. It was only a moment, but she knew it. She felt a palpable and painful charge and a flash of green light seemed to blind her, from nowhere. She blinked it back and held on to the gasp that had formed in her throat. Kingsley gave a shudder and his breath hitched. She softened her gaze and pressed her hand to his heart. His eyes grew wide with recognition that she knew what he was holding on to. She knew that he had experienced a profound loss, and yet an odd sense of relief that the fear and uncertainty of quite some time was over. She wouldn't tell him tonight that she was leaving. She knew he needed her tonight.


	2. Flight of the Dragon

**_Flight of the Dragon_**

 _Mid July 1998-_

Draco Malfoy stood alone in his grand bedroom suite at Malfoy Manor. He looked out over the expanse of his mother's prized gardens and the deep woods of the Wiltshire estate where he'd grown up. Although a warm breeze lifted the sheer curtains away from the open French doors, the young man shivered with an unshakeable chill.

He'd reluctantly returned to the manor with his parents, following their pardon by the Wizengamot. Draco recalled how his mother swooned the moment they apparated into the gates of the estate. He'd wrapped an arm about her waist, supporting her into the house where she'd taken to her bedchamber and remained ever since.

It seemed that the smell of death and ruin lingered in the air at every turn and Draco felt as if he would suffocate from the stench of it. He too, chose to confine himself to his own rooms, where he contented himself to drink into a stupor. When the alcohol no longer provided relief from the nightmares that seemed to haunt him even in his waking moments, he would turn to a silver hip flask filled with Draught of Peace and wander the gardens to sit under his favorite tree with his beloved albino peacock. He longed for his missing greyhounds Castor and Pollux, but assumed that they had been dispatched along with his father's Borzois, as they had simply disappeared shortly after the Dark Lord's arrival at the Manor.

Draco stepped out onto the stone balcony and inhaled deeply, hoping to rid his mind of the inescapable stench. He lifted a bottle of firewhiskey to his lips without a care of the lack of breeding it showed, and swallowed the last burning dregs in the decanter. Voices drifted to him from a nearby window. He strained to hear the conversation that came from his parents' suite of rooms.

"…because we can't let this defeat impact his future. I have already been in contact with their governors and they are more than willing to admit him."

"Absolutely not, Lucius!" his other exclaimed. "I will not lose my son to those Bulgarians!"

"We must maintain our honor, Narcissa! Draco has come too far to stand in obscurity behind their _golden boy, Potter!_ I have instructed the elves to arrange a banquet for this evening. It's time he also begin selecting a suitable young lady—"

"You _can't_ be serious! Look around you, Lucius! Your rabid desire for position, influence and power nearly cost us _everything!_ We nearly lost our only son! You and my demented sister almost got Draco killed!"

"Enough!" Lucius shouted. "I am _still_ the lord of this manor! I will not have my decisions questioned! Draco has come of age, and it is important that he secure his proper station in society."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the sounds of the argument. He spun on his heel and strode back into the suite, slamming the doors shut. Draco paced back and forth nervously.

His father wanted to send him to Durmstrang and begin courting some pampered pureblood princess! They'd barely escaped the war with their lives and already the man was plotting his next power grab, using his only son as a pawn once again. Draco hurled the liquor bottle into the fireplace and snatched open his wardrobe. He found a long-forgotten leather rucksack on a shelf near the back and turned it upside down with a shake. A few dragon scales and a dead mouse fell to the floor. With a flick of his wand, he vanished the detritus and cast a cleaning charm on the satchel. A few more passes with the wand along with an undetectable extension charm and he slung the packed bag over his shoulder before disapparating.

He landed behind a delivery van on Charing Cross Road, several steps from his intended destination, the Leaky Cauldron. Apparently, intoxication was not a suitable companion for apparition and Draco counted himself lucky not to have been splinched. He considered it a greater fortune not to have been spotted by any of the handful of muggles going about their business on that end of the street. He turned toward the pub when a thought struck him. He had never actually been on a muggle street before. Draco always apparated directly into Diagon Alley, or arrived at the Leaky Cauldron by floo. Clearly, he'd misjudged his arrival due to his drunkenness, but he couldn't help being drawn to the activity on the muggle street. He stared openly at the delivery van and the automobiles parked along the curb; he ventured further down the sidewalk. The cacophony of noise from the traffic and bustle on Tottenham Court Road beyond Oxford Street drew him on. He looked up and marveled at the modern buildings in the distance, and realized that there was an entire world out there that he knew practically nothing about. His parents—particularly Lucius—had shielded him from the muggle world for his entire life and he regarded muggles as loathsome human beings who were beneath the magical world in which he lived. Looking around him now, he saw conveyances that took them places and massive structures of glass and steel that they had managed to create without the aid of magic. How? Draco wanted to know. His musings were interrupted by the tinkle of a bell. He turned to find himself on the doorstep of a bookshop opposite the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Draco ventured closer and his feet carried him right into the muggle establishment. It was brightly lit and several shelves of books, certainly more organized than the stacks of tomes in Flourish & Blotts, stretched toward the back of the store. There were neatly lettered signs above some shelves, which he quickly discovered, indicated different sections of the store according to topic of interest. Draco just stared in bewildered fascination. The place reminded him of the library at Malfoy Manor, the dark and quiet space where he'd spent hours curled into a deep leather chair reveling in the scent of ancient parchment as he pored over some grimoire, learning his legacy. Although as a young boy, he'd never dreamed all of those amazing lessons of power, privilege and domination would pale beside the greatest lesson he would ever face and the most frightful teacher he would ever experience.

"May I help you find anything?" Draco jumped at the sound of the young woman's voice. "Oh, I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that I noticed you were standing here for quite some time. I thought perhaps you might need some assistance." She smiled and pushed a pair of pink glasses up her nose. Draco noticed what appeared to be very painful metalwork attached to her teeth and wondered at the purpose of that torture device and why she appeared so content to be wearing it. Draco was in fact curious about what types of books muggles read, but he suddenly realized that his money bag only contained wizarding currency.

"Oh, I-erm-no. I—" he stammered and reached into his robes withdrawing the elaborately engraved gold watch he'd inherited from his maternal grandfather. He remembered Narcissa presenting him with the heirloom on the night before he first boarded the train to Hogwarts.

"Wow! That's quite a timepiece! Is it a family heirloom?" the girl asked.

"It belonged to my grandfather. I inherited it just before I started school."

"That explains the getup. You must be a first year."

"I'm sorry?" Draco stared at her with a bemused expression. Was she a witch? Why would she think he looked like a first year? He realized, much to his horror, that his natural inclination to boast had led him to speak out of turn.

"You're attending University, right?" She pointed at his robes. "I plan to start in the fall. I've just received my A- Levels."

"Oh, y-yes. Of course!" he stammered out the lie. _What in Merlin's name are A-Levels? Maybe they're like O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.S. Do muggles wear robes to school?_ "Well, if you'll excuse me, I've some business to attend. Perhaps I can return before you close for the day."

"Oh, please do! We close at eight p.m."

Draco rushed back to the sidewalk and fought the anxiety welling up inside him. What had he been thinking? He should just go back to the manor and sober up. If his father wanted him to attend Durmstrang and arrange his marriage, then so be it. After life with the Dark Lord, how much worse could it be? He quickly marched across to the Leaky Cauldron. A drink was what he needed. A good belt of firewhiskey to shake off the jitters and then he would floo home to deal with Lucius. He pushed open the door to the pub. A hush fell over the crowded establishment as soon as the door closed behind him. Every eye in the place was upon him as he crossed the room. Draco was acutely aware of the muttered epithets aimed at his back as he approached the bar.

"Some nerve showing his face…Can't believe they were acquitted…owes his freedom to Potter…"

Tom, the barman, approached cautiously. "Perhaps Mr. Malfoy would prefer a private dining room?" he suggested.

"I would _prefer_ firewhiskey, Tom—in a _clean_ glass." Draco tossed a few coins onto the counter and assumed the well-trained Malfoy mask of arrogance.

Quiet conversations began to resume around the room, but Draco was aware that the other wizards at the bar had given him a wide berth. He was also aware that many of the conversations taking place were clearly about him. Tom placed the glass in front of him and Draco quickly tossed it back, allowing the burning amber liquid to chase away the remaining anxiety. He took a deep breath and willed the mask of cool indifference to stay in place, even as he caught the mutterings of a pair of exiting wizards.

"No doubt he'll be just like Lucius soon enough."

Draco's hand went automatically for his wand, but stopped just as his fingertips curled around the carved hawthorn. The comment rang in his ears… _just like Lucius…_ He refused the urge to strike back in anger.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Malfoy?" Tom asked. It was clear from the look on his face that the publican was not so much eager to serve Draco as he was to urge the young man on his way. Draco sensed this and shook his head. He could feel the anxiety beginning to creep up again.

"Tom?" _Cool indifference._

"Yes, sir?"

"Has Gringotts re-opened for business?"

"Gringotts was never closed, sir. In spite of the breach, the goblins are available to meet the needs of so many who are-ahem-in need of funds for reconstruction."

"Excellent! Thank you." Draco tossed a few gold coins on the counter and swept out the door, oblivious to the stunned gaze of the barman, who had never before been thanked or so generously tipped by a Malfoy.

Draco strode back through the pub, buoyed with determination. The patrons in the bar barely had time to register his presence before he swept out the door. The young woman smiled at him when he reentered the bookshop and eagerly directed him to all of the information he was seeking. Lucius would be furious with his hasty plan, Draco knew, as he left the shop and made his way up the street, but he was of age and his trip to Gringotts had provided him with an avenue that might help him to possibly defy that last wizard's pronouncement. He just hoped he was brave enough to survive his decision.


	3. Epiphaneia: Insight Through the Divine

**_Epiphaneia: Insight Through the Divine_**

Sixteen-year-old Épiphanie Duminy de Glapion leaned over the wrought iron balcony railing outside her bedroom and gazed with disinterest at the crowds on Bourbon Street below. She puffed several times on her cigar, holding the last pull for a moment before exhaling slowly. Once again she was grounded, not that it mattered much. Épiphanie would do as she pleased and simply try harder not to get caught. She hadn't thought she would get away with ordering a daiquiri—no several daiquiris—at the bar down the street, but her skill in manipulating the thoughts of others was quite good. She hadn't even had to make eye contact with the barman. Unfortunately, Angelique was waiting for her when she stumbled into the house late last night, quite inebriated.

Épiphanie's gift for seeing the thoughts of others had earned her first derision, then notoriety. Barely out of first grade, she'd been tossed from St. Peter Claver school after she revealed the rather heinous indiscretions of Father Baker. This was followed by two other school expulsions before fifth grade, from St. Mary's Academy and Academy of the Sacred Heart, for fortune telling and blasphemy. Finally, her mother gave up and decided that public school would have to do. Angelique did her best to raise Épiphanie with a firm hand. Épiphanie attended mass and confession with rigid regularity and learned her catechism flawlessly. The girl was an apt pupil and read voraciously. She seemed to excel at everything she set her hand to, from music to dance. By the time she reached high school, she was a featured dancer on the majorette squad at her school and insanely popular. She also took quickly to the healing arts and rituals that were the family's true religion. In fact, by the time she was eleven, Épiphanie's talent for invoking the spirit and her accuracy at chiromancy and tasseology were renowned all over the Crescent City. Her ancestry only served to bolster her notoriety, and tourists as well as locals flocked to La Maison Duminy de Glapion for a reading. There were whispers throughout the community that Epiphanie might actually be the reincarnation of the great queen. Still others remarked at the young woman's singular beauty and her marked resemblance to paintings of the elder woman as proof that the long dead icon of the city was indeed a witch who was reincarnated in the girl.

Angelique fiercely denied the rumors as conjecture and pointed out that DNA was as much a reason for the young girl to look like her ancestors. Still, she was beginning to see in her beloved child distinct markers of her father's strong auras, its brightness at times overwhelming. The girl was mysterious and charismatic in a way that worried her mother. What vexed Angelique most was that her child showed evidence of powers far beyond the healing, charms and rituals. Angelique attempted to ignore Épiphanie's ability to bend people to her will. She caught her making objects move of their own accord, transform themselves or appear out of thin air—even the girl herself seemed able to come and go largely undetected, appearing in the room though no one had seen her cross the threshold of a doorway. It reminded her of the odd occurrences she recalled during her summer with the man who had given the girl those haunting dark eyes.

Épiphanie knew next to nothing of her father, except that he was a handsome Englishman with whom her mother had had an affair while traveling abroad. She was somewhat curious about the man and wondered if he knew anything about her at all. She once discovered a vague image of a tall, noble looking African wearing an earring that she gleaned from her mother's thoughts when she wasn't aware the child was in her presence. She'd given up asking her mother anything about him long ago. In her family, men had little place. Her mother had no brothers and her aunts had no husbands. They plied their trade and looked after one another. With few friends her own age, Épiphanie often wandered the streets of the French Quarter, taking circuitous routes throughout the old city on her way home from school, mass or confession. The landmarks and haunts of the Vieux Carre were her playground, including a small house on Rue St. Anne, just beyond the Tremé, that seemed to appear only to her. It was her hideout; the one place she told no one about.

Épiphanie considered going to her La Maison Blanche as she gazed down upon the crowd that had increased significantly as the shadows of the day grew longer, when her eyes fell upon a young man with shockingly blond hair so pale that it was nearly white. He made his way nervously through the throng of people toward St. Anne Street. His dark aura seemed to vibrate with anxiety as he disappeared around the corner in the direction of the river.

Épiphanie closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, and focused her mind on the boy until she could hear him.

 _"_ _Merlin! What have I done? I haven't the faintest idea why I am here! What was I thinking?" He was terrified._

Épiphanie opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder. Her bedroom door swung quietly closed and locked itself. She took a deep breath and turned on the spot.

Draco trembled uncontrollably as he stood, staring down at the murky, swirling water. Only a narrow strip of grass and a band of stones separated the brick promenade from the turgid river. His giddiness at successfully managing to take a flight on a muggle airplane bound for the United States had long dissipated with the day. There were so many people! He had no way of knowing if they were magical or muggle. They were loud, raucous and far too familiar. Draco had no plan once he disembarked from the plane, but found himself swept up in a group of young people who were apparently part of a visiting tour group. He boarded the motor coach with them, and sat as far to the back as possible, staring out of the window as they rode into the city. Draco had followed the tour group for a short while, leaving the motor coach at Louis Armstrong Park and walking into the neighborhood to what the leader called Bourbon Street. He quietly separated from the group there and slipped into what he had hoped was a pub. They served, what Draco considered, passable food. He had to admit, however, that the little fried puffs of shredded potatoes—the waiter called them _tater tots—_ were quite tasty, and the fizzy drink with the fairy name— _Sprite_ —tingled his nostrils and was quite refreshing.

His hunger sated, Draco left the restaurant to explore his surroundings. The neighborhood reminded him a bit of Paris, except the people here spoke English with the most oddball accent and their French was some odd dialect that made them sound as if they were talking with a _langlock_ jinx. The large crowds in the streets made it difficult for Draco to determine how to seek out magical establishments or people. Everyone was wearing muggle clothing. Most perplexing to him was the number of establishments advertising some type of divination or palmistry. He entered one in the hopes of connecting with a witch or wizard, but he knew immediately, despite his general disdain for the practice, that no magic existed in this place. He'd seen his mother read tarot often enough to know that the young proprietor of this establishment didn't even know how to properly spread the cards.

The shadows were beginning to grow long as Draco nervously made his way up the street. He could feel his anxiety begin to rise as the throngs of people began to swell. The cacophony of revelers and loud music that seemed to come from nearly every doorway had his heart racing. He stumbled into a pub and ordered a glass of whiskey to steady his nerves, but the barman gave him a measured look and flatly refused.

"I don't serve underage patrons."

"What do you mean underage?" Draco demanded indignantly.

"Look kid, if you don't have I.D. that says you're twenty-one or older, all you get in here is a Coke. Louisiana beverage control laws." He snarked.

"Fine," Draco sighed. "Do you happen to at least have a room available?"

The barman let out a snort. "Ha! Ça çé té byin fars! Listen, kid, this ain't England. We're a _bar,_ not the Fairmont." He turned to a patron who had just approached the bar, essentially dismissing him.

Tired, anxious and desperate for a drink, Draco continued up the street, hoping for any hint of magic. He thought he would be able to manage the muggle world, but it was proving to be more than he could handle. He'd inquired about a place to stay and was directed to a few hotels. One or two appeared to be quite acceptable. One hotel clerk claimed there were no rooms available for a week. Another insisted that he provide a credit card in order to reserve a room. _What in the_ _ **devil**_ _was a credit card?_ He passed another establishment advertising chiromancy and tasseography. Draco faltered a moment. Something about the name on the shingle seemed vaguely familiar—Duminy de Glapion—had he read about that family somewhere? A girl stood on the second floor balcony smoking a cigar. He was struck by her appearance for a moment, but was then jostled by someone in the crowd. A drunken couple, wearing an assortment of beads in green, purple and gold apologized as they stumbled past. He reached the corner and turned up the next street in the hopes that the crowd would thin somewhat. He could see a large boat in the distance. Draco was now fighting to catch his breath, a panic attack threatening to completely overtake him. He made it to the Riverwalk, where the crowds were thankfully sparser and dropped his rucksack on an expanse of grass near the water's edge. He stepped out onto the jagged rocks.

 _He'll be just like Lucius soon enough…_

The wizard's words echoed again in his mind.

 _I am NOTHING like him. I saw the Dark Lord for what he was—a deranged monster who would ultimately destroy us all. He knew I could never kill Dumbledore. I didn't like the old bastard, but I didn't want him dead. It was all a ruse so he would have an excuse to humiliate Lucius before he slaughtered the lot of us. What does it even matter now? Potter may as well have condemned us instead of insisting on a pardon. I'm still a pariah._

Draco took a step closer to the water. _Who will really miss me? They have their hero. Saint Potter. No one needs me._

"Won't your mother miss you?" a voice came from behind him.

Draco spun around, nearly losing his balance on the wet, uneven rocks. He was stunned to see the girl from the balcony. She was perched on a bench with her legs tucked beneath her. The girl puffed on a cigar and exhaled little rings of smoke. _Wait—was there a bench there before?_ He stared at her, speechless. Her long bushy curls tumbled over her shoulders to her waist and her tan skin, kissed with warm amber reminded him of Hermione Granger, only about a shade darker—and without the unfortunate teeth—and he found her to be stunningly beautiful. She wore a dress of filmy white gauze, an embroidered design in verdant green adorning the front of the dress and hem. However, what captivated Draco most was her dark, smoky eyes. Her large, soulful eyes were peculiar in their look and had considerable magnetism about them.

"Well?" she asked, taking another drag on her cigar.

"I'm sorry?" he blinked.

"Won't your _maman_ miss you?"

"My mother?" Draco stammered.

"Okay—apparently I was mistaken, but that would be a first for me. At any rate, the river would be the worst way to go. The current will slam you like a rag doll. That's gonna hurt—assuming you aren't knocked unconscious right away. Do you really want your maman to learn her precious boy was churned into chum?" She smiled and placed delicate feet on the ground. Draco could not take his eyes off her as she seemed to float toward him, her dress softly swishing around her ankles.

"Mo non se Épiphanie." She held out her hand. _What? Oh, her name is Épiphanie?_

"Malfoy—erm—Draco Malfoy."

"An Englishman! With a French name. Awesome! Well, Draco Malfoy, byinvini a N'awlins." She grabbed his hand and began to lead him away from the water. "Don't forget your bag."

Draco hastily grabbed his rucksack and stumbled after her.

"Um, where are we going?"

"Well, I feel like a cup of café au lait, and you look fim!"

"Fim?" Draco thought to release her hand, but her soft grip was firm, and he fought the urge to end the contact.

"You look like you haven't had the pleasure of tasting our world famous beignets at Café Du Monde.

"So Draco, you traveled all the way from England to the United States just to die I can't decide if that's just foolish or completely badass bucket list insane." Épiphanie sipped her coffee and gazed deeply into his eyes.

Draco looked down and busied himself trying to brush away the powdered sugar that seemed to dust everything from the table to his clothes. A quick cleaning spell would fix that in short order, but he was sure she would notice. Why would anyone want to eat such a decadent, but unbelievably messy dessert? Épiphanie dropped her napkin and bent to retrieve it. Draco hastily touched the wand in his pocket and cast a silent tergeo. When she sat up, he gave her an innocent smile. She glanced only briefly at his now spotless shirt and grinned widely.

 _Is she a legilimens? Is she a witch? She couldn't be! Could she? No. I'm just tired._

"Jet lag?" she asked.

"I—erm—jet lag?"

"You _did_ cross an entire ocean. The change in time zones is probably wearing on you."

"Oh—erm—yes. That's probably it," he stammered. _How does she know what I'm thinking?_

"Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you have a soft bed waiting for you." She held his gaze again.

"Erm. Yes. I mean, I do," he lied.

 _La Maison Duminy de Glapion—what? Did she just_ _ **say**_ _that?_

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked.

"I didn't. You should probably go check into your room. It's been real, Draco Malfoy." She stood.

"Real? Yes. Erm. Real. Erm—Épiphanie?" he stammered, and started to reach for her hand, but drew back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah?"

"Erm—do you—well—would it be possible to get together again? Perhaps you might show me around your fair city?" Draco finally found his Malfoy charm. Épiphanie gave him a broad smile.

"I could do that."

"Brilliant—erm—how do I—how do I get in touch with you?"

"Don't worry. I'll find you." She walked away from the table and disappeared into the crowd. Draco stared after her until she disappeared. He sighed deeply. He still had no place to sleep.

 _La Maison Duminy de Glapion._

He shook his head. _Is that where I should go?_

 _Why else do you think I keep repeating it? Get going now!_

Draco was certain that he may very well be losing his mind, but he'd ponder that after a good night's sleep. Having no other ideas, Draco picked up his bag and made his way back through the throngs of people to Bourbon Street. He was unaware that his anxiety had all but dissipated and he moved easily through the drunken revelers in the street until he found the entrance to La Maison Duminy de Glapion. As he approached, he read the plaque beside the door.

" _Specialists in healing arts, potions and spiritual reading by descendants of Marie Laveau. Help will always be given here to those who ask for it"_

"That sounds like something Dumbledore would say," he mused and stepped through the door. A woman clad in a white caftan, her dreadlocks held back by a white fabric sat on a stool beside a counter, sipping from a demitasse.

"Bonjou. You don't look like you're here for a reading," she said, giving him a smile. She placed her cup onto a saucer and stood.

Draco surveyed the myriad jars and containers on the shelves that lined the wall behind the counter and his eye landed on a bottle labelled _vinaigre des quatre voleurs—_ Four thieves vinegar. Draco recalled reading in a journal of his ancestor, Nicholas Malfoy, that the potion was used to protect the user from the Black Death.

"I—no, erm—Is this an apothecary?" he asked.

"Some would say that. Mostly we give readings, provide cures and whatever help we can give to those who ask," she replied.

"I see. I—erm—you wouldn't have a room available? I've only just arrived in the city and it appears my planned accommodations didn't quite work out." Draco felt a flush creep up his neck, but the woman didn't appear to notice. She smiled and made her way to a set of French doors on the opposite side of the room.

"We would be honored to have you. My name is Angelique."

"Draco Malfoy."

"Monsieur Malfoy." She beckoned for him to follow, and led him across a moderately sized courtyard with a large fountain gurgling in the center. Benches sat among various green and flowering plants. Balconies with wrought iron railings ran around the perimeter of the second and third floor balconies and gaslight sconces provided soft lighting about the area. They climbed a spiral stair and walked along the second floor balcony to an open door. As they approached, Draco's nostrils flared and he detected the scent of a sweet cigar. He wrinkled his brow, but was prevented from considering it longer when Angelique spoke again. "Here we are!" she exclaimed, gesturing to the room with a flourish. She lifted a small lever beside the door and a chandelier in the center of the room lit up, bathing the room in light. "The lavatory is through that door." She pointed. "Feel free to place your belongings in the bureau. You are welcome to join us for breakfast."

"Oh, thank you. Really—oh—how much is—"

"Se pa aryen."

"I don't—"

"Don't mention it." Angelique touched his cheek tenderly. The gesture reminded Draco of his mother and he felt a lump form in his throat. "Adieu."

"Bon soir, Madame."

"Ah, tu parle Francais!"

"Oui. Mais je ne comprends pas ce dialecte que vous parlez."

"C'est la Louisiane créole. It is a mixture of the French, Native American and African. Some of the people here speak Cajun, which is another French dialect. Some of us combine the two. We are a peculiar people here in Louisiana, but you will come to love us, as all do." She smiled and left the room, pulling the narrow double doors closed behind her.

Draco let out a long, slow breath and turned in a circle examining his surroundings. There was a large bed beside the door with an elaborately curled wrought iron headboard and footboard, covered in pale green bedclothes. Simple wood night tables flanked each side. On one was a box that had luminous numbers on the front. He realized as the numbers changed suddenly that it must be an electrical clock. On the other was a basin and pitcher. Opposite the bed, beside French doors that led to another balcony, there was a desk with an odd looking device. There were buttons on the sloped front that had numbers from one to nine, a hashtag and asterisk inscribed on them. A coiled line ran from the side to a crescent shaped device sitting on its top. He looked at the telephone curiously and moved on. The walls were papered in a sage colored damask fabric and a silk oriental rug covered most of the painted hardwood floor. It was quaint and opulent at the same time. Draco turned his eye to the decorations on the walls. Above the bed hung a simple crucifix. He knew very little about the concept of Christianity other than what he observed of some muggleborn students who shared the practice. Like most of the other pureblood students, he considered it another odd behavior of muggleborns and gave it very little attention. He turned to the painting above the bureau that stood beside the bathroom door. It depicted a beautiful Creole woman who bore a striking resemblance to the girl, Épiphanie. Her head was covered in a brightly colored turban and her shoulders draped in a matching shawl. She sat regally, gazing upon the artist with those same peculiar eyes that seemed to connect with Draco.

"Good evening, Madame," he greeted the painting. The woman's image remained motionless. Her magnetic gaze did not change. There was no twitch in her lips, nor did she speak. The snake coiling in her palm was similarly still and Draco realized that the portrait was not magical.

Draco tore his eyes away from the painting at last and waved his wand, sending his clothes to the bureau, leaving out a pair of pyjamas. He retrieved the bath linens that were neatly folded on the bureau and stepped into the bathroom. It appeared familiar enough, but he only light available came from the other room. He thought for a moment then searched the wall beside the door until he found a tiny lever like the one in the main room and flipped it.

Refreshed from a good shower, Draco emerged from the bathroom, tying the drawstring of his pants, and crossed to the bureau. He cast a drying charm on his hair and picked up his brush. It was then that he noticed a carving in the wood of the dresser. He pushed aside his grooming kit and looked at it more closely.

 _This almost looks like the Malfoy coat of arms._

The carving consisted of a heart with crosses at each apex. A script letter M was ascribed over this with a series of Xs filling the void to the bottom of the heart. It was bisected in the center by a tall cross around which was wrapped intertwining serpents. Draco tentatively traced a finger over the carving and a current ran up his arm. He snatched his hand away, pointing his wand at the bureau.

 _It's okay, Draco. You are safe here._

 _Why are you in my head? Who are you?_

 _I don't know why. You just seemed to need me. Your aura is brown._

 _I don't want you in my head!_

 _Then empty your mind. You need to rest. I promise. You're safe here, Draco._

Draco backed up until he reached the bed, falling against it. He gasped for breath, struggling to regain control of his emotions. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the colors he saw behind his eyelids, fighting to slow his breathing. He knew the only way to drive out whomever was in his mind was to clear his thoughts completely. But somewhere a legilimens was invading his mind. Who was she? Why had she sought him out? Why didn't she reveal herself? Draco willed himself to relax and focused on his breathing. Slowly, all of the images from his dizzying day faded to black. He took a few more breaths and opened his eyes. Turning off the lights, he climbed into bed and settled into the amazingly sumptuous bedclothes, but he still gripped his wand tightly. A few more deep breaths and he closed his eyes. A few more deep breaths and Draco was asleep, the face of the beautiful Épiphanie drifted briefly to the fore and faded into shadows of his subconscious. The faint aroma of tobacco came to him again, this time accompanied by the scent of cocoa and vanilla. Draco sighed and gave in fully to rest.


	4. Congratulations! It's a Witch!

**_Congratulations! It's a Witch!_**

Kingsley Shacklebolt poured a snifter of brandy and reached for an old fashioned glass of fine cut crystal into which he poured two fingers of single malt. He carried both glasses to the comfortable leather chairs beside the fireplace in his study and handed the snifter to Minerva McGonagall. The headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry warmed the brandy with her wand and took a sniff. She held the snifter under her nose and inhaled again before taking a sip. She closed her eyes and nodded appreciatively, giving the Minister of Magic a smile.

"I understand that the reconstruction of the castle is ahead of schedule. That is wonderful news," he said, taking a seat and crossing his legs at the knee. Kingsley flicked his wand and a stereo on the bookshelf lit up and began to play soft music of a form Minerva was unfamiliar with.

"Yes, we are quite pleased with the progress. It is all thanks to the number of volunteers we have had to lend their wands to the effort. What do you call this music?"

"It's jazz, a genre that began in America during the early part of the century."

"Ah. I think I quite like it!" she remarked. "I am constantly amazed at how you have managed to employ these muggle devices so successfully!"

"So, I'm certain that Miss Granger has decided to return for her N.E.W.T. year. Any word on Potter or Weasley?"

"I am aware that you have been trying to entice Harry and Ronald into your Auror department, Minister—"

"It's still Kingsley, Professor. No deference necessary."

"Yes, _Kingsley._ As I was saying, Harry and Ron are certainly taking the time to weigh their options. I do believe that Molly and Hermione are working on them however. Neville Longbottom has decided to return as well. Pomona has offered him an apprenticeship in the greenhouses. I think she's about ready to retire and thinks he will do well as a herbologist."

"Brilliant!"

"In all, we do have a rather hopeful number of returning students and first years. Not as many as we had before Riddle returned, but with the additional seventh years who are returning to complete their N.E.W.T.s, I believe all of the dormitories will be filled. Transfiguration until we find a suitable replacement. I've persuaded Horace to remain as potions master for at least one more year and head Slytherin house. Bill Weasley has accepted our offer to become Defense instructor and head of Gryffindor."

"Well that is wonderful news!"

Minerva sipped her brandy thoughtfully before she spoke again. "I received an owl from Draco Malfoy the other day."

Kingsley rested both feet on the floor and leaned forward at this news.

"He requested permission to return and complete his studies."

"And what do you think?" Kingsley asked.

"I'm not entirely certain what to think. I know that Potter spoke on behalf of the Malfoys at the Wizengamot. Albus would likely have given him a second chance. His portrait has certainly had plenty to say on the subject." She pursed her lips.

"Of that, I am sure. What about Severus?" Kingsley referred to the portrait of Severus Snape that Harry Potter had insisted be placed among the other headmasters at Hogwarts school.

"Well, he seems to concur, pointing out that much of Draco's behavior was directed by Lucius and Bellatrix or that ghastly Tom Riddle. I must say that the tone of the letter seemed almost desperate. He indicated that being of age, the choice to return to school is entirely his own."

"Well, you are the headmistress. Things will be different this year. I have every confidence that you will set the proper tone for the new Hogwarts and ensure the wellbeing of its students." Kingsley smiled.

"Ever the diplomatic response, _Minister._ " Minerva gave him a wink and raised her glass. Kingsley chuckled and touched his own glass to hers.

A shrill bell began to trill and Minerva gave a start.

"Excuse me, Minerva. My telephone." He stood and moved to his desk, setting his drink down on the blotter. Minerva looked on in awe and the ringing stopped abruptly when Kingsley lifted a crescent shaped device, pressing it to his ear.

"Hello…This is Kingsley…I'm—I'm sorry…Angelique?"

Minerva perched on the edge of her seat watching Kingsley's face register a look of surprise and then shock as he spoke, slowly lowering himself into the chair at the desk.

"Just a moment, Angelique, what are you saying? ...Épiphanie? Is everything alright? ...are you absolutely sure...Laveau? Marie Laveau? …what kind of magic? ...How long has this been going on? …Oh, I see…No, I understand completely. There's something you should know, Angelique I—but how did you know about—I never…If you knew this, why didn't you tell me? …You're right. Now is not the time to go into that…Well, I'll have to shuffle some business commitments, but I will do my best to let you know by the end of the day tomorrow…Does Épiphanie know that…No, we can do that together…Yes, yes…it is good to hear from you, my dear…I look forward to it." He returned the hand piece to the device with a clatter, a dazed expression on his face.

"Kingsley?" Minerva stood cautiously. "Is everything alright?"

Kingsley took up his glass and drained it. He turned to Minerva and gave her a smile. "Minerva, what do you say to an American holiday?"

"America? Why exactly would we go to America?"

"To meet my daughter."


	5. A Better Song to Sing

**_A Better Song to Sing_**

 _**Note: "sha" is a Louisiana Creole pronunciation of "cher", meaning "dear". Some of the dialogue is written in traditional French, while other is written in the phonetic of Louisiana Creole._

 ** _Early August 1998_**

Draco breathed a deep and contented sigh, standing at the railing of the Steamboat Natchez as it chugged into port. After a breakfast of coffee and beignets at Café du Monde, he decided to take the two hour harbor cruise while Épiphanie attended mass and went to band practice. He wondered what type of instrument she played. He had been in the Crescent City for nearly three weeks and was beginning to get a grasp of the muggle way of life.

When he'd awoken on his first morning and ventured down to the cool and inviting courtyard for breakfast, he was surprised and delighted to see Épiphanie seated at the large round table with Angelique and two other women.

"You live here?" he asked, unable to hide the wide smile on his face.

"Draco, this is my daughter, Épiphanie, and these are my sisters, Celeste and Arthémie." Angelique gestured for him to join them at the table. She sat and crossed herself, spreading her hands and reaching to clasp his right as Épiphanie took his left. He looked around, bemused as the other two women did the same, completing the circle and lowered their heads. Draco awkwardly followed suit.

"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Bless, O Lord, this food to our use and us to thy service, and keep us ever mindful of the needs of others. In Jesus' name, Amen."

"Amen," the other women murmured in echo and released hands, crossing themselves again.

Épiphanie went to the elaborately dressed buffet off to the side and returned with plates for each of them. She placed a dish with what looked like stew spooned over porridge in front of him. The aroma was heavenly, but it was certainly a far cry from the full English to which he was accustomed.

"Grillades and grits," said Angelique. "Have you ever had it before?"

"I erm, don't believe I've had the pleasure." Draco took a tentative bite. The heavy roux had just a hint of spice and tender veal melted on his tongue. A soft moan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"Ahh! Sa se bon, eh, sha?" chuckled Arthémie . She winked at him.

"This is delicious!" he exclaimed, digging in with relish. Draco felt his senses come alive with each bite. He had accompanied his parents to the continent on a number of occasions, but he could not remember a dish he had enjoyed as much. The orange juice seemed so much sweeter, and the coffee stronger. He also marveled at the fluffy scones that the women referred to as "biscuits" with creamy butter and dark, thick cane syrup poured from a jar. He had happily accepted another helping of grillades and grits and noticed that the women sprinkled a red potion from a delicate phial over their food. Brigitte caught his gaze and offered it to him.

"Would you like to try some Tabasco, sha?"

"What exactly is it?" Draco asked, accepting the phial and examining it.

"Hot pepper sauce," said Épiphanie. "It's made from tabasco peppers, mashed and aged in whiskey barrels and mixed with vinegar and salt from Avery Island. It adds a little punch to our food."

Draco sprinkled a dot of sauce onto his spoon and took a bite. The burning tingle made his eyes bulge and the women laughed as he immediately reached for his juice to cool his tongue.

"You know, I should take you to the mall," Épiphanie suggested.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I know you gotta be hot in all that black, lookin' like an undertaker. I thought folks in the U.K. had some kind of fashion sense." She sopped up some syrup with her biscuit and took a bite.

"Épiphanie!" her mother admonished.

"No, it's quite alright, Madame. I come from a very rural community in Wiltshire—that's southern England and have attended a rather cloistered boarding school for most of my life. We're a bit apart from most communities and perhaps a bit old fashioned."

"See, Maman—country as cornbread!" Épiphanie exclaimed.

"Épiphanie, don't be rude."

"Can we go? Just to the Riverwalk?"

Angelique heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes skyward. "Fine, but young lady," she pointed her finger in warning. "Draco is our guest. Don't be down dere acting all couyon! Heah?"

"Yah. We good. C'mon!" she grabbed Draco's hand and dragged him from the table.

They spent several hours at the mall, which reminded Draco of a massive indoor high street. The sheer number of goods available for sale boggled his imagination. Épiphanie made a great show of carefully selecting a number of muggle outfits that she proclaimed to be "fly". In the first store, Draco entered the dressing area concerned that the clothes could actually fly or cause him to levitate, but his fears were allayed once he was dressed and saw that nothing actually happened. He stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the wall. He liked the feel and fit of the denim shorts and polo shirt that she insisted he try on.

In another shop, Draco found it rather ironic that he'd traveled all the way to America, only to purchase a pair of British shoes. She called them Reeboks. He realized that the shoes were what the muggleborn students called "trainers". Épiphanie also insisted that Draco needed a pair of high-tops. These shoes were labelled in the store display as basketball shoes and had a logo that reminded him of a broom turning in the air. The illustrations on display advertising the shoes depicted men and women playing a muggle game that looked similar to quidditch—minus the brooms, bludgers and snitch. There was also only one goal with a net attached, but Draco rather thought that some of the players appeared to be levitating or flying as they passed the ball through the hoop.

Although he was learning the ins and outs of muggle shopping, he noticed that his money stores were getting low and whilst in a dressing room of yet another store, Draco discreetly transfigured the denominations of some of the cash in his wallet and cast a doubling charm on a few bills. Just to be safe.

Over the next several days, Draco would explore the sights and sounds of New Orleans with Épiphanie. He accompanied her to Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis on Jackson Square, where the women attended daily mass and confession. Draco was able to understand some of the Latin in the service, but on the whole found it a bit like sitting through a speech given by Albus Dumbledore—with music. The experience was ultimately rather peaceful and he had to admit to a feeling of calm refreshment when they emerged from the grand chapel. He gathered up the courage to circumspectly inquire about the business of La Maison Duminy de Glapion without directly revealing himself and in the hope of discovering once and for all if the girl and her family were witches. Unfortunately, their answers left Draco more informed, but no more or less confident that the women were witches.

"Some people believe that it is witchcraft. In fact, during slavery, our people were forbidden to worship, for voodoo is a highly complex religion," explained Angelique. "Because New Orleans was a major port where multiple cultures converged, the influences on New Orleans Voodoo are very diverse and different. For example, there are Cuban-inspired Santeros, Haitian-initiated Mambos and Houngans, Obean rootworkers from the West Indian islands like Belize, the Bahamas, and the Dominican Republic, followers of the Spiritualists Churches, Hoodoos who incorporate spells and superstitions, and followers of the Yoruba tradition of Nigeria. New Orleans Voodoo is also influenced by Native American spirituality and herbalism. The practices and traditions have been passed down in our family for a number of generations and were taught to my sisters and me at an early age. I have taught them to Épiphanie, although she seems singularly gifted. I believe that perhaps the spirits themselves have sought her out, for her inner eye is so much more focused an accurate than just about any in the area.

Some people call it _hoodoo,_ but there is a difference. The word voodoo means "spirit of God." Voodoo believers accept the existence of one god, below which are the powerful spirits often referred to as Lwa. These powerful spirits are responsible for the daily matters in life in the areas of family, love, money, happiness, wealth, and revenge. Contrary to popular belief, however, Voodoo is first and foremost about healing. The lwa are petitioned in rituals and spellwork frequently, but not always. The goal of hoodoo, on the other hand, is to tap into supernatural forces to improve daily life by gaining power in areas such as luck, money, love, divination, revenge, health, employment, and necromancy. As in many other folk religious, paranormal, and medical practices, extensive use is made of herbs, minerals, parts of animals' bodies, an individual's possessions, and bodily fluids even. Ma Mère, Marie Catherine, was considered the greatest voodoo practitioner that ever lived. She helped the religion to survive during slavery and made New Orleans Voodoo what it is today. Our practices are very private, as a dramatic ritual is disrespectful to the spirits, and we don't charge money to true devotees. We would never press a hardship upon anyone who needs help, but the tourists see it as entertainment, and for a fee, that's what we give them—a show. I see no hurt in taking the money of a fool."

Although he didn't quite find the answer that he was seeking, Draco was rather intrigued by one of the concepts that Angelique mentioned as she attempted to explain their belief system and the "magic" that they employed. He sought to learn more about this subject of slavery and determined to learn more, he discovered that there were libraries available to the public around the city and found one just a few blocks away, where he spent an entire day reading. The idea that muggles kept other humans in subservient bondage like house elves was astonishing. He was even more astounded to learn that the English played a prominent role in the trading of slaves to America.

What was most disturbing to Draco was how much the beliefs of the slaveholders reminded him of the ideas that had been espoused by Lord Voldemort. The lavish lifestyles of the Southern planters and their preoccupation with social position were eerily similar to Lucius' grand schemes for power, wealth and political influence. When he learned of the devastating war between the states and the quest of Blacks for equal rights in the country that cost many innocent people their lives, Draco was stunned. How could he have never learned these things? He began to comprehend why so many students, especially muggleborns risked everything to rally behind Harry and the ultimate defeat of Lord Voldemort.

Draco found himself reflecting on these revelations once more as the steamboat docked and he disembarked, strolling aimlessly through the French Quarter lost in his own thoughts. For a moment, he had an inkling that he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder, one hand on the wand in his waistband, but saw only tourists and locals going about their personal business. He ducked into a nearby pub, taking a seat in a booth at the back of the room where he could see every person who entered. A few minutes later, he tucked into a bowl of gumbo, sprinkling a generous amount of Tabasco over the stew, one eye warily observing the other patrons.

As he swallowed the last dregs from a bottle of Coca-Cola, the sound of music drifted into the place from the street. Draco was drawn to the doorway and watched the procession of elegantly dressed musicians and drummers accompanied by equally well-dressed people carrying fans, waving handkerchiefs and elaborately decorated parasols that they twirled as they danced and strutted along to the lively jazz music. He stared in awe at the spectacle, and was thus suddenly startled when he felt a soft hand take hold of his own. He looked up to find Épiphanie standing beside him.

"It's a second line. Considering how they're dressed, this group is probably just returning from a funeral. C'mon!" She tugged his hand and pulled Draco along with her into the street to join in the dancing. Having only ever participated in courtly dances and formal waltzes, Draco followed along inelegantly, watching with fascination as Épiphanie bounced and twirled in time with the music. Her hair was in a long plait that floated through the air as she spun around, the bright afternoon sun making her dark skin glow. Draco couldn't help staring at her long, shapely legs, his gaze settling on the roundness of her backside, clad in shorts of a skintight fabric that he recalled her calling spandex. Her tee shirt was gathered up and tied in a knot at her waist. She seemed to know that he was staring, hypnotized by her swaying hips, and winked at him as she swiveled seductively.

Draco wanted desperately to touch her, slide his hands over her silky skin and tangle his fingers in her curls. As if in answer to his thoughts, she grabbed his hands and pulled him close, smiling broadly at him and locking her gaze with his.

"You know, I think I'll let you take me to dinner tonight."

As the last rays of the sun faded into night, Draco found himself gazing across the table at Épiphanie as they sat in the private Tabasco Room of the historic Antoine's Restaurant. He was exceedingly proud of himself for having learned to use the telephone to make the reservation as well as finding a well-made off-the-rack suit for the occasion. He would have preferred a tailored suit, but given his limited time, he was quite pleased with the fit of the grey suit and matching striped tie with the slate blue shirt that the salesman helped him to select.

Now, feasting on a refined and succulent meal of soufflé potatoes, shrimp remoulade and Filet with Marchand de Vin sauce and creamed spinach for him, and Gulf fish du jour Ponchartrain for her, Draco finally felt in his own element and was gratified to learn that Épiphanie was able to navigate the upscale atmosphere effortlessly. Her hair was swept away from her face with a headband, her curls spilling down her back. She wore a simple, sleeveless black dress that accentuated her slim figure and flared at her hips, brushing her thighs just above her knees. When she'd first descended the stairs, Draco was transfixed by her amazing legs and delicate feet balanced in strappy shoes that balanced on heels that he thought too dainty for anyone to possibly balance upon.

Their meal completed with a dessert of baked Alaska with chocolate sauce, Draco took Épiphanie by the hand as they stepped out onto St. Louis Street.

"Fancy a stroll along the river, mademoiselle?"

"Enchanté!"

They walked along in silence for most of their constitutional; Épiphanie entwined her fingers in Draco's as they walked, savoring the sights, sounds and smells swirling and blending around them. As they neared the water, the noise of the Quarter faded into the current of the mighty river, the sound reminding Draco of the rush of wind in his hair as he raced around the quidditch pitch. He sighed at the thought and began to imagine himself soaring through the air with Épiphanie, her arms wrapped tightly about his waist, and her soft cheek against his back, her hair trailing behind her. He felt a stirring below his belt at the very idea. No one had made Draco feel this way for quite some time.

Sure, he'd engaged in his fair share of snogging in secluded hallways of Hogwarts Castle. There was the awkward coupling with Daphne Greengrass after the Yule Ball during Fourth Year and an insane, mostly mind-numbing affair he'd had with Pansy back in the spring, before all hell had broken loose. He'd shagged her largely to escape, for just a moment, from the oppressive atmosphere in place at the school just as so many of the Slytherins were beginning to realize their misapprehension of Voldemort's cause. He broke things off when her behavior changed quite dramatically, following a late night when she'd entered the common room with Crabbe and Flint. She insisted that everything was fine, but Draco had the inkling that perhaps she had engaged one—or maybe both—of his housemates.

Épiphanie gave his hand a squeeze and the warm current that traveled up his arm brought Draco out of his reverie. They paused in their _rodier._ Épiphanie rested her arms on the railing as she leaned back against it.

"Thinking of going in again?" she teased.

"Oh, no. I'm quite over those maudlin thoughts." He smiled and bracketed her, his hands on the railing, and found himself caught in the gaze of her peculiar eyes. He had the notion once again that she could see his thoughts. He'd watched her and the other women in her family, and she always seemed able to anticipate the needs of the visitors almost before they spoke. He was reminded of her mother's implication that her gifts were of a "singular" nature. She was much more than a _voodooienne,_ as they referred to themselves, he was sure of it. The question escaped his lips before he realized that he had even spoken it aloud.

"Are you a witch?"

"Oh, you got jokes, huh?" she rocked on her heels and her pelvis touched his for the briefest moment, causing Draco to suppress a shudder.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean that. You just have the most beguiling disposition. It's—"

 _I want to kiss you._ He thought.

 _What are you waiting for?_

Draco blinked, and stared at her. She gazed up at him with a chaste smile.

"Your hair has grown," she said. "In this light you could be an angel." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she reached up to touch a lock of the silvery platinum hair that curled against his collar. Draco caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, brushing them over her knuckles.

"Draco—"

He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her hungrily. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and inhaling the heady scent of her essence.

She pulled away.

"Draco—"

"Please, Épiphanie!" he breathed, leaning towards her again. He parted his lips to taste her once more, when the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly pricked up. His hand was in his jacket in an instant and he whirled around as a flash of red filled his vision and bounced off an invisible shield in front of him. But, how—he hadn't had time to cast the shield.

 _What—_

"Get down!" Épiphanie screamed as another stunner headed straight for them, hitting the railing as they ducked and ran for the cover of a nearby bench. Draco looked around wildly for their attackers, but saw nobody. _They must be disillusioned!_

"Protego!" he shouted as another spell burst forth.

"Draco!" Épiphanie grabbed his wrist. He felt a familiar pressing in against him from all sides and suddenly they were tumbling through space.

Draco scrambled to his feet as they landed with a thud onto a dusty Oriental rug, and gripped his wand tightly as he spun around wildly looking about the room.

"You _are_ a witch!" he screamed at Épiphanie, leveling his wand at her.

"No, Draco—" she began

"Who were they? Are you working with them?"

"Draco—"

"Incarcerous!" he screamed. Ropes sprang from his wand, but landed in thin air as she disapparated.

"Draco, please—" Draco spun around, pointing his wand again.

"Did my father send them? I knew it! I _knew_ it! I knew you were a witch!" he bellowed.

"I am _not a witch!"_ she yelled. The lights in the room flickered uncontrollably and she clenched her fists at her sides.

"Then _what is this?_ " he roared back at her. "You just did magic! We just _apparated into this place!_ How did you do it? _Tell me!_ Crucio!"

The jet of red light struck the girl square in the chest, but instead of writhing in agony, she exploded into a fine dust.

"What? No!" Draco bellowed, throwing himself forward in disbelief. "No, no, no! I didn't cast a reductor curse! I didn't—what have I done? What the hell is happening?"

"Draco," Épiphanie spoke quietly from behind him and he spun around again. Before he could point his wand, it sailed from his grip and she caught it deftly in her own hand. Draco sank to his knees in defeat, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Who _are_ you? Just tell me that before you kill me," he sobbed, his hands spread plaintively.

"Why would I kill you, Draco?" she approached him, holding out the wand in her hands. "If I give this back, will you promise not to hurt me?"

Draco looked up at her in confusion. He took the wand from her, but did not raise it, eyeing her warily. "What the hell is going on?"

Épiphanie sank to the carpet beside him. "I was hoping that you could explain it to _me._ "

"You _really_ don't know anything about it?" he looked at her.

"About what?"

"Magic. Witchcraft…Merlin I hope I haven't just broken the statute," he muttered. Draco took a deep breath and turned to face her. He wasn't sure where to begin, having never met anyone who was unaware of the wizarding world.

"Draco, what is that thing? Why do you keep accusing me of being a witch?"

"You _are_ a witch…and I'm a wizard." He looked into her eyes. There was distinct fear and trepidation in them now.

"But—"

"Ma chère, soyez patient. Laisse-le parler."

Draco clambered to his feet, pointing his wand again. He lowered it in stunned silence and gawped at the ghostly image of the woman from the painting in his rooms. "I-I've seen you. You're the woman in the painting! You're a ghost?"

"I am."

"You can see her?" Épiphanie asked.

"Of course I can. I'm a wizard." Draco took her by the hand and led her to the old-fashioned settee. "This is my wand." He held it out reverently in both hands. "It helps to channel my powers and focus my spells. Witches and wizards receive their wands when they turn eleven and go off to school to study magic. The statute—the International Statute of Secrecy mandates that witches and wizards conceal their magic from muggles—erm—non-magical people. It's for everyone's protection."

"Est-ce vrai, ma mére?" Épiphanie turned to the ghost hovering nearby. She nodded. "So the rumors are true? You really were une sorcière?"

"Oui, ma chère."

"Does Maman know?"

"She may suspect. Hélas, mes enfants n'étaient pas bénis avec la magie."

"So, that explains why you didn't know. Your mother and aunts are not witches. They only learned the herbology and potion making through the voodoo. But how did you learn to do all those spells? And with no wand?"

"I taught her," the ghost replied. "This house…it was La Maison Blanche…the place where my devotees came seeking my help…" she shrugged. "Among other things. When I decided that I was becoming too old to continue my pursuits, I passed the mantle along to my daughter, Marie Therese, and cast a fidelius charm to make the house unplottable at her death. The No-majs know the site and revere it for its connection to the vaudou, but they only see an abandoned house. New Orleans is rather friendly to the dead, particularly me. I saw ma chere standing on the sidewalk one day, staring at the house. She knew that it was there—could _see_ the house. I knew immediately that _elle était ma descendante et bénie de la magie._ I brought her in and made her my secret-keeper. I taught her all that I knew about the magic."

"But she can cast the spells without a wand. Do you know how exceptional that is?" Draco asked.

"I do."

"What do you mean?" asked Épiphanie.

"Only the most powerful of wizards and witches are capable of wandless magic."

"I too have never held the wand. But, mon fils, such is not unusual of our people. Many from the Motherland have not held the wand. I met a man once— _un Anglais comme vous_. He said was a wandmaker. He drew an impressive wand that he said he would create for me. It looked like my vévé, but I refused him the offer. I had never held the wand, and I would not. It is why so many revered me as la Reine du Vaudou."

"And you taught her legilimency."

"It was my particular gift. I passed it to her."

"Wait—You say the house is unplottable? So…"

"You are now a secret keeper of La Maison Blanche."

"But where is the wizarding community? Isn't there an entrance somewhere?"

"It is all around you, _mon fils_. Because the prevalence of the vaudou, the magical population is able to live quietly in plain sight of the No-majs here in New Orleans. It is not so anywhere else in this country. If there is a separate community, I do not know of it. We do not reveal ourselves, often not even to one another, but those who have resided here in the city for generations are aware of their compatriots."

Épiphanie leapt to her feet and began to pace. Draco took her hand and pulled her back to the sofa, holding her in his embrace.

"A witch! A _witch!_ Me? I thought it was just—oh, I don't know!"

"Épiphanie, it is a lot to learn in one night. I am beginning to imagine what it must be like for a muggle-born to learn. But this is a beautiful thing! Really. Your abilities are greater than many witches and wizards that I know. Our world is full of experiences, creatures and objects that would boggle the mind!"

Draco spent the rest of the night, describing the magical world, flying brooms, magical creatures, and owl post. As the night gave way to morning, Draco recounted the Wizarding Wars and the rise and fall of Lord Voldemort. Épiphanie was speechless for several moments as he finished the tale.

"This Harry Potter is our age, and he did all that?" she asked in amazement.

"He did." Draco pursed his lips.

"You don't seem to care much for him."

"Well, there's a bit more to the story." Draco looked away from her then and his gaze fell upon a sideboard with an assortment of decanters. "Might I trouble you for a drink?"

The ghost gestured to the tray. He took his time cleaning a glass and pouring a brandy, sipping from it at length before plunging into the story of his family's involvement in the war and the outcome.

"I have a question to ask." He sat down beside Épiphanie. She looked at him expectantly. "It's you that's been in my head all this time, hasn't it?"

She lowered her eyes guiltily. " _Ma Mére_ has gotten on my case about legilimency, but I can't help it. I saw you, and I knew something was very wrong. I told you so—in your head—at least until you shut me out."

"Too right! You scared the hell out of me! The Dark Lord used legilimency to destroy his enemies. My aunt taught me occlumency so that I could carry out one of his most heinous plans without raising suspicion. Not that I was successful in the end—that is both a good and an unfortunate thing—but what I did ultimately helped bring him down. It's the primary reason that Harry Potter saved me from condemnation."

"And it's why you were so depressed on the night we met?"

"It is." He sighed. "However, I should thank you. You were right. My mother would be devastated if I were to die in such a way. You changed my life."

"So you never lived in the—what is it— _muggle—_ world before you came to N'awlins?"

"Never."

"That explains those _tired_ clothes you had on when we met."

"Yes!" Draco chuckled. He leaned back into the cushions and pulled her into his arms, placing a kiss at her temple. "Thank you."

"For what?" Épiphanie twined her fingers with his. He yawned as his eyelids grew heavy.

"For saving my life."


	6. Awakenings

**_Awakenings_**

Draco stirred a few hours later and hugged the soft, warm body lying on his chest. His fingers tangled in soft waves of hair. He opened his eyes fully and gazed down at Épiphanie, listening to her soft breathing. He brushed a stray hair from her face and studied her in the slivers of light that fell across the room through the closed shutters. He still had so many questions about the beautiful mysterious girl. Despite what the old ghost had told him about non-Europeans' ability to cast spells without wands, she had managed to perform a type of apparition he had never seen before. How did she manage to leave her image behind for him to cast a spell at? Was it some old magic that he'd never learned? Draco had spent hours in the family library at the Manor reading the ancient texts passed through his ancestors. He'd learned a number of obscure spells from his father and Auntie Bella, but neither had ever taught him anything like that. He also wondered why Épiphanie never received a letter from Ilvermorny School and how she managed to get away with the use of underage magic without sanction. Didn't she have the Trace? Perhaps American laws were different. He was drawn away from his thoughts when she shifted, snuggling into his arms. The hem of her dress was drawn up and Draco's eyes traveled up her legs to the curve of her bottom. He felt the stirring between his own legs and he tried unsuccessfully to wriggle as gently as possible into a position that would not reveal to her his physical longings.

"Good morning," she smiled up at him and pushed herself into a sitting position, running her hands through her hair.

"Bonjou," he replied grinning wickedly at her.

"Well, look at you!" she remarked with a laugh. "Mon dieu! Have we slept the entire day?"

"No, it's early still. Do you think your mother knows we stayed out all night?"

"I doubt it. As long as I apparate directly into my bedroom, she's none the wiser. And she stopped checking my room after I charmed my door to make her and Tantes Celeste and Arthémie forget why they were there."

"Ah, Repello Muggletum. Good one!" he chuckled. "We should get back though," he said regretfully.

"Maman is teaching a summer session class today. She'll be on campus at Dillard all day."

"That spell that allowed you to leave your image behind when you apparated away from my curse. I've never seen anything like that, and I know my spellwork! I'm sorry for that, by the way."

"I came up with it on my own."

"Really?"

"I call it _leaving the shadow_. It happened when I first learned to apparate. Instead of turning, I stepped to the side first."

" _Leaving the shadow._ Hmm, very appropriate. I wonder if I can do it."

"Only one way to find out."

They took up places on opposite sides of the room.

"I don't normally trust anyone to cast a spell towards me. Lots of bad memories," said Draco.

"I'll try to be gentle." She grinned wickedly.

"Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Draco took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on the open door behind her.

"Ready?"

"Take your best shot."

Épiphanie gave him a wink. "Stupefy." A blue light burst forth and struck Draco's form in the face. The image exploded and dust showered down on the carpet.

"Levicorpus!" she heard behind her, but her shield was faster than his wand. Épiphanie turned, crossing her arms, and gave him a baleful look.

"Oh, you wanna throw it in de alley, huh? Okay, okay. Don't let the gator beat you to the pond, _muh bebe_!" She waved her hand to the side and back with a flick. Draco was suddenly knocked off his feet, laughing uncontrollably. She stalked across the room and stood over him as he struggled to counter the spell.

"Fin—hahahaha! Okay! Ha! Okay! Ha! Fini—ha! Épiphanie grinned.

"Give up?"

"I _give! Hahahaha!"_ Tears streamed down Draco's face as he continued to writhe and laugh under the _rictumsempra_ spell. "I give, I GIVE!"

"Finite," she said. Draco's body relaxed and she reached out a hand to help him to his feet.

"Well, that was easy enough," he panted, chuckling as he regained his breath. "Wish I'd had that in my arsenal during the war." He brushed off his clothes. It was then that he noticed the same symbol carved into the wood floor as the one on the bureau in his rooms.

"Épiphanie?" He pointed to the floor. "What is this mark?" he asked.

Épiphanie crossed to see the carving that he pointed to. "Oh, that's ma mère's vévé. It's a protection talisman."

Draco pulled a face. He didn't quite understand the voodoo, but he certainly was grateful for any and all types of protection.

They practiced _leaving the shadow_ for a while longer. Over the next several days, they apparated to La Maison Blanche, where Draco showed her the wandwork for many of the spells. She was quickly able to use his wand to cast them flawlessly. Épiphanie demonstrated a quite expansive knowledge of charms and spells. Draco was amazed at the level of wandless magic she was able to exhibit. In the afternoons, Épiphanie and Draco continued to explore the city together. He accompanied her to dance rehearsal for marching band in the mornings, an experience he thoroughly enjoyed, not only for the sight of pretty girls in scanty clothes twirling batons, but also the spectacle of the musical show. Épiphanie explained that her school's band modeled themselves after the Grambling State University marching band. Grambling State was an historically black college whose band was known for their high-stepping field shows and popular music. Épiphanie teased him about his popularity with the girls on the dance team, who giggled at his accent and whispered about the cute white boy with the long, platinum hair. They ended each day meandering around the French Quarter among the crowds of tourists in the streets. On a couple of occasions, they managed to successfully confound a bartender or two into serving them drinks. Épiphanie dragged Draco into a photo booth and took dozens of photos, mugging for the camera. Draco didn't think much of the pictures that didn't move, but when they arrived back to their rooms, he carefully arranged the photos of Épiphanie on his bedside table in such a manner that he would see her stationary smile when he awoke. In all of their late night adventures, the pair made a point to avoid the riverfront.

After another morning in which they spent exploring the cities of the dead—the term that the people of New Orleans use to refer to their cemeteries—and communing with a number of very interesting ghosts, they apparated back to their rooms to shower and change clothes. Draco had been in the city for just over a month, and had little desire to leave. As he stood in the refreshing spray of the water, he mused over all of the revelations he'd made. He was sure that learning about the muggle world had made a significant impression upon him. It wasn't that the wizarding world was so terrible. It was as if he had been moving through a world that only existed in black and white. Now, every sound, every smell, every experience came to him in vivid color. He could not imagine his life without magic, but he could certainly imagine a life in which he was able to partake of the best of both worlds.

Épiphanie was waiting for Draco when he emerged from the bathroom after his shower.

"Very nice!" she exclaimed, admiring the silk dressing gown he wore. Draco cursed and spun around, pointing his wand. She held up her hands. "Don't shoot. I'm unarmed." She laughed.

"My dear, you are many things, but unarmed you most certainly are _not._ " He winked, and flicked his wand at the bureau, summoning a pair of jeans and a graphic tee shirt with the McIlhenny Tabasco logo on the front and the phrase _Laissez le Bontemps Roulez_ on the back. He stepped into the pants, buttoning the fly, and removed his robe before pulling on the shirt.

Épiphanie gave him an appraising glance. Although he had a lean frame, she couldn't help but notice that his torso was quite muscular. Clearly he spent some time engaged in athletic pursuits. She speculated as to what kind of sports wizards played. She noticed a pattern of slash-like scars that crisscrossed his pale skin and wondered if he'd acquired them during the war. Who could have attacked him in such a way? All too quickly, the cotton fabric of the shirt had concealed her view, and Draco had turned to the bureau where he picked up an ornate silver brush, passing it over his hair.

They went to a concert that night and Draco learned all about a type of music called hip-hop. The sheer noise of the crowd and the pounding bass was overwhelming, but he was fascinated by the headlining artist, an amazingly tall young man who called himself Master P. He learned that the rapper was born and raised in the city, and it was clear that the fans absolutely loved him, even Épiphanie. He didn't quite understand all of the lyrics of the rhythmic poetry that they performed, but some of the words really stood out to Draco.

 _Tired of being blast at, but didn't cast that_

 _I done asked for my life and right there was laughed at…_

 _See my tattoos reveal some of the shit I did…_

 _Feel the shit I do just to live…_

 _See I been scared, popped at and shot at…_

 _My war wounds…_

Draco's ears were still buzzing when they apparated back into his rooms that night. "That was brilliant!" he exclaimed. "I may never be able to hear again, but that was an experience!" He flung open the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony inhaling deeply. "This holiday has been nothing like I was prepared for." He leaned over the railing and watched the crowds on the street below. Épiphanie followed him, summoning a cigar from her room and lighting it. He sniffed a few times. The sweet tobacco smell was mixed with something else. He sniffed again. "Is that cannabis?"

Épiphanie laughed heartily. "Is that cannabis?" she mimicked him. "Yeah, I laced it with weed. Surprised? You think that is a bad thing? Is that against your wizarding code?"

"Hardly." He scoffed. "It's just that I've only ever smoked hashish."

"Ooh, la, la. You fancy, huh?" She passed him the cigar and he took a drag, holding his breath for several long seconds before exhaling a long stream of smoke.

"Y'all got beads?" someone called out. They looked down and saw a group of girls about their age standing on the street below.

"Show my boy your tits!" Épiphanie yelled.

"What?" Draco gaped at her. She pointed back down to the girls, who all lifted their shirts and exposed their bare chests, letting out a whoop. Épiphanie conjured a bunch of beads and handed them to Draco.

"Give them their reward," she laughed. Draco tossed the plastic beads to the group, who held out their hands hungrily like little birds in a nest. Just as they caught their beads, a police officer approached and chivvied the young women along.

"Enough of that, Miss Dragonfly!" he called out.

"Ey, it was for my English friend here! It's his first time!" she called back with a shrug. The cop waved an admonishing finger at them. She tossed him a few beads, and he continued down the street.

"Bloody hell!" Draco exclaimed. Épiphanie laughed and took the cigar from him, puffing on it. She passed it back. He took another drag. "Why did the cop call you 'dragonfly'?"

"The neighborhood business owners call me ' _zirondelle'_. That's Cajun for 'dragonfly.' Because I'm always all over the place, my divinatory skills are so accurate and life changing for some people, they say I'm like a dragonfly. The dragonfly is a sign of happiness, speed and purity. Purity because the dragonfly eats from the wind. Also there is the belief that where the dragonfly can be found, change is on the horizon and one's eyes will be opened—like divine insight."

"Hmm," He mused, nodding quietly. "I suppose it's about time for me to go home," he said regretfully.

"I wish you didn't have to." Épiphanie turned to him, resting her hip against the railing. She reached out and stroked a tendril of his hair, which had over the weeks grown to touch his shoulder.

"Nor do I, but there is some rather important business that I must attend if I'm to return to school on the first of the month." He sighed audibly. "I don't know what I expected when I came here. I just wanted to get as far away from home as possible. I guess I wanted to prove to myself that I am my own man, and maybe to figure out where everything went wrong. My idea of the muggle world had been passed down to me from people who had never truly been a part of this world—not for generations. I was so frightened and confused when we first met. All of my life there had been someone to tell me what to think, how to behave, what to do. If I couldn't do something, I could always pay or intimidate someone to do it for me. In this world, seeing people get by without magic and thriving is just—I can't even put it in words! Then, when I began to learn about the history of this country—the slavery, and the apartheid—it put so very many things into perspective. I wish you could come back with me."

"That would be so cool. Maman went to the U.K. before she began her graduate study. It's where she met my father."

"Well, perhaps our paths may cross when you visit." Draco gave her an encouraging smile.

"I've never met him." Épiphanie turned and rested her elbows on the railing again, looking out at the street below. She puffed on the cigar once more, coughing a bit as she exhaled, then stubbed it out.

"Never?"

"Nope. Never seen my birth certificate. Don't even know his name."

They stood in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they looked out into the night.

"Do you—no—never mind," she began.

"What is it?" Draco looked at her.

"Well, it's just that none of Ma mère's descendants had the magic until me. You don't think my father could be—no, it's stupid." Épiphanie shook her head.

"Do I think your father could be a wizard? It's quite possible. Has your mother told you nothing about him?"

"Only that she met him outside of a bookshop on Charing Cross Road in London, and that she ended it just after Halloween the year before I was born. She didn't know for sure that she was pregnant until she came home, but since she considered it just a fling—" Épiphanie shrugged. "It's stupid. I know."

"It's not stupid. I can't imagine what it would be like without one or both of my parents. Maybe I wouldn't be the person I turned out to be." Draco had a thoughtful expression on his face for a moment. "No matter. We shall simply have to endeavor to remain in touch. You don't have an owl, so I suppose I'll just have to learn to use muggle post." He smiled and tweaked her nose with his finger before pulling her into an embrace. He kissed her forehead. "It's late."

"Fais do-do." She whispered.

"Bonne nuit et fait de beaux rêves."

As Draco began to drift into sleep later, he was struck by a thought. Épiphanie said Angelique met her father outside of a bookshop on Charing Cross Road… _it_ _ **couldn't**_ _be…but the Leaky Cauldron has been there for centuries…they ended the affair just after Hallowe'en…and she's only sixteen…could her father be a wizard…and if he is, just who is—or_ _ **was**_ _he?_

"May I offer you a drink, madame? Champagne?" the flight attendant smiled cheerfully at Minerva.

"Oh! Well, yes. Thank you!" she gratefully accepted the flute filled with bubbly golden liquid.

"Anything for you, sir?"

"Nothing for me. Thank you." Kingsley continued to stare thoughtfully at the clouds sailing by.

"Mr. Potter? Would you like a soft drink?"

"Coke, please." He would have preferred a glass of champagne personally. However, in spite of the fact that it was Harry who had chartered the private jet on which they were traveling, he was still considered underage in the muggle world. He gave the young woman a smile and accepted the icy tumbler of soda, placing it on the burl wood table between himself and Minerva.

"Are you quite alright, Professor?"

"I'm sure I much prefer flying a broom to this…contraption!" she moaned. "I feel as if I'm in the belly of a dragon!"

Harry chuckled. It was his first time traveling by plane as well, and he was as thrilled by the experience as he had been the first time on a broom. "The takeoff was certainly nothing to remember, but I rather think it's exhilarating."

"Well, it is certainly lavish, Potter. I can see why the muggles enjoy going on holiday abroad."

"Yes. Although most of them fly commercially—bigger jets with up to 200 people crammed together in much less comfortable seating."

"Oh, my! _Twelve_ hours crowded in such a space with 200 people!"

"Indeed."

"Suddenly I'm finding portkey travel much less distasteful! Was it not possible to arrange an international portkey, Kingsley?"

"As I'm sure you are aware, Minerva, arrangement of an international portkey requires consent from the governing bodies of both countries. I'm simply not sure at this time whether it would be prudent to reveal potentially scandalous information to the Magical Congress or the Ministry of Magic." Kingsley finally turned away from the window and unbuckled his seat belt to stand and stretch.

"Of course. But a scandal? Might you not be exaggerating just a bit?"

"Did _you_ know that I had a daughter?" he asked. Minerva pursed her lips in response.

"Minister, does your daughter know that she's a witch?" Harry asked.

"Not in so many words, Harry. According to her mother, she is aware that she has some magical powers which she tends to use to her advantage. Levitation, possibly apparition, and most notably legilimency."

At the mention of legilimency, Harry drew a sharp breath. "Is this why you asked me to come along?"

"Not entirely, Harry. What you must understand is Épiphanie's mother is a voodooienne. Vaudou is widely practiced in New Orleans. Moreover, the wizarding community in the city uses that to its advantage. It allows witches and wizards the opportunity to live in plain sight alongside muggles if they wish. Of course, they are still otherwise bound to the Statute of Secrecy, and I hear the Magical Quarter in New Orleans is quite nice. But I digress. Divination is a great part of their religion, and in fact one of the ways that she makes a living—quite a comfortable one I'm told. That Épiphanie is a legilimens only initially led her mother to believe she simply had the gift of second sight. When she began to perform other magic, she became concerned."

"But shouldn't she be attending Ilvermorny, Kingsley?" Minerva asked.

"I suppose that she should, Minerva, and I'm not sure why that hasn't happened. However, Harry, the reason I brought you along is because I thought you might rather understand her situation. Apparently, Angelique discovered that I was a wizard at some point before she ended our relationship. I believe it was the night that your parents were killed. I apparated home, only to find her asleep in my sitting room. She woke before I could create any scenario that would seem plausible to her. Oddly enough, she didn't mention it then, so I assumed I was safe not to say anything. Looking back, I believe that in all honesty, I was too aggrieved to think of casting a memory charm or be bothered with a tricky explanation. Angelique did write me after she returned home, and I knew about the child, but there was so much happening, even in those early years after—and then Riddle reappeared, and there was simply no way that I could be a proper father. Angelique still hadn't mentioned what she knew, and believed that I worked for the muggle ministry—MI5. I think that's why she chose not to tell the girl about me. She thought I had a dangerous job that could get me killed."

"If only she knew," murmured Harry.

"If only." Kingsley let out a mirthless chuckle.

"So does she—what is her name?"

"Épiphanie."

"Does Épiphanie believe that you are dead?" Harry asked.

"No. I believe that she knows I am alive and well, but Harry, I'm sure you remember what it was like to learn that you were a wizard, and that the Dursleys knew this all along, but chose to hide it from you. I thought you might be able to help her to cope with the idea better than a bunch of grownups."

"But why now? The child is nearly of age!" Minerva pointed out.

"She's only contacted me because she fears that Épiphanie has learned to control her magic—as I said, she uses it to her advantage."

It was now Minerva's turn to gasp. "By Merlin! Kingsley, you don't think—"

Harry suddenly realized what the headmistress was implying, a pensieve image of Dumbledore meeting Tom Riddle for the first time flashed through his mind.

"It couldn't be!" he murmured.

"No, I don't believe it is as bad as all that. According to her mother, Épiphanie is an exceptionally bright, friendly, and kind young woman, but she is precocious and perhaps a bit mischievous—a little too headstrong for her own good. That is her mother's concern. She wants her to live with me."

"So she will attend Hogwarts?"

"I believe that would be the best idea. Until we are sure of the extent of her powers and awareness of them, I think Hogwarts would be the safest place for her."

"But a sixteen-year-old first year! I'm sure we could tailor the curriculum to suit her, but

have you considered the stigma?" asked Minerva.

"Do you believe that she is in danger?" asked Harry.

"I have considered the stigma, Headmistress. As to whether she is in danger, Harry. No, as far as I am aware American witches and wizards still keep largely to themselves. There haven't been any major incidents in this century—unless you count that unfortunate incident with Newt Scamander in '26—it was a major shakeup for the MACUSA—especially with the revelations about Percival Graves. It has only been a little over thirty years since Rappaport's Law was repealed, so interaction with muggles, or No-Majs, as they call them, is still kind of tenuous." Kingsley shook his head. Minerva rolled her eyes. "No, I don't believe that Épiphanie is in that type of danger, but I have failed to provide two other pertinent points of information. I mentioned before that Angelique and her sisters are vaudou priestesses and have been teaching Épiphanie the practical aspects of the religion in anticipation of her ordination. They are also all descendants of Madame Laveau."

Minerva gasped in awe.

"Madame Laveau?" Harry gave him a look of confusion.

"Ah, yes. Marie Laveau—also known as Marie Paris, and occasionally Marie Catherine Duminy de Glapion, though the latter surname was only recognized by the children of her plaçage husband and their descendants—she was celebrated as the Vaudou Queen of New Orleans in the nineteenth century and even the wealthiest white citizens of the day sought her counsel. You see, Louisiana did not become a state until 1812, almost a decade after Rappaport's Law was established. The wealthy wizards and witches of the city pushed back against the MACUSA, insisting that the Vaudou traditions had helped them to conceal themselves in plain sight, and if they were forced underground, this major port city might die. So Marie was able to operate openly under the guise of Vaudou. Some muggles attempted to decry her as a witch, but a rumor was put out that still persists today that she was only a well-informed mafia boss."

"But she was a witch?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes, Harry. A powerful one. It is said Gerbold Ollivander even sought her out and presented her with one of the few wands he ever made that wasn't carved from cedar. She refused it. Marie had fifteen children with Christophe Dominick Duminy de Glapion who was a muggle. None of her children had any magical powers. Épiphanie is the first descendant to exhibit any form of magic. Marie refused Ollivander's wand, and as a matter of fact, _never_ owned a wand. My concern for Épiphanie is that she is able to control her magic nonverbally and _without a wand._ "


	7. The Consecration

**_The Consecration_**

Épiphanie lit some incense as an offering to the Divine and three white candles which she had placed in a triangle form on the altar in the corner of her bedroom. She placed the talisman upon it in the center of the triangle between the candles and sprinkled it with salt.

"I consecrate you with the element of Earth, that you will provide an aura of protection to the person who holds you."

Épiphanie passed the talisman through the incense.

"I consecrate you with the element of Air, that you will provide an aura of protection to the person who holds you."

She passed the talisman through candle flame.

"I consecrate you with the element of Fire, that you will provide an aura of protection to the person who holds you."

She sprinkled the talisman with water.

"I consecrate you with the element of Water, that you will provide an aura of protection to the person who holds you."

Finally, she placed the talisman back on the altar and placed both hands over it. A white light from above poured into it as she spoke.

"I charge this talisman to serve as protection for Draco Malfoy, for I, Épiphanie Marie Catherine Duminy de Glapion, am servant of the Divine. So be it!"

She extinguished the candles, pinching out the flame with her fingertips.


	8. Through a Glass Darkly

**_Through a Glass Darkly; But Then Face to Face_**

Draco reclined on the bench in the courtyard of the youth hostel, his eyes searching the sky above as he'd done for the last week. After several minutes, he sighed and opened the book he was holding. He re-read the passage again. "I can't keep that up, if I'm watched to that extent, I start by getting snappy, then unhappy, and finally I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside, and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and what I could be, if... there weren't any other people living in the world."

The words echoed in his head like a reverberating gong. It was a muggle book. Épiphanie had given him two before he left. "I don't know that much about the wizarding world, but I know the one in which I live. Your war has happened over and over again in the non-magical world and the effects have been far reaching. Read them. Don't read them, but I think if you do, you will also begin to understand yourself, Draco, and maybe come to terms with your internal struggles."

She had also given him a small leather pouch, which she'd draped about his neck, tugging at his collar to slip it inside his shirt. "I made this for you. We call it a hand. It contains talismans to protect you." She placed her hand against his chest and looked up at him. "A mojo hand is a powerful ally in magic. Keep it with you."

"Always," he whispered.

He gazed at the photo booth snapshot that he'd used to mark the page and slipped a set of headphones over his ears. He'd seen the portable stereo in a gift shop at the airport and purchased it along with several compact disc albums. The clerk in the shop snorted as he rang up Draco's purchase, which totaled close to one hundred dollars.

"You sure you'll have room in your bag for all this?" he asked. "Must be a pretty long flight."

"London. And I'm sure I can make it all fit," Draco replied.

"Ah. Well, enjoy your flight."

Draco found he'd developed an affinity for the rhythm and blues music and hip hop that he'd discovered. He closed his eyes and recalled the image of relaxing into the beat and dancing with Épiphanie in the nightclubs that they'd crashed night after night in his final weeks with her. He'd been so enticed by the way she moved, and struggled to maintain a sense of self-control. Draco wanted to know her desperately, but his feelings for Épiphanie were different from any he'd ever experienced with a girl. They weren't merely physical. He realized that he'd awakened each morning longing to see her, to hear her voice, to learn the things that she knew. Once he was certain that it was her invading his mind, he'd studiously practiced his occlumency; for fear that she might learn how deeply he was beginning to feel for her. After a day or two, he let his guard down, but there didn't seem to be any sign that she knew what he was thinking.

Since he'd returned to England, he'd written her several letters, but stopped short of sending any of them. He didn't feel that any of the words he'd penned could convey his feelings. If they couldn't be together any time soon, what was the point? He looked at her picture again and came to a decision. If he didn't receive the owl he was expecting by the end of the week, he would return to America. It might very well be the change he was looking for.

Draco opened his eyes and scanned the clouds again. He saw a large raptor closing in and sat up, scanning the courtyard to be sure that he was alone. The owl landed at the edge of the table and dropped a letter in front of him. Having no owl treats, Draco offered the bird a handful of crisps from the bag he'd been mindlessly snacking on. The owl hooted in indignation and took off again. He looked at the letter bearing the Hogwarts seal and held his breath as he broke it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

Dear Mr. Malfoy

This letter is to inform you that your petition to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been granted. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Draco shuddered the moment he entered the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor, but he squared his shoulders with determination and strode with purpose into the drawing room where his mother sat in her usual chair beside the window, her needlework untouched. Draco cleared his throat and was shocked by the shadows about her eyes and her gaunt appearance as she turned away from the window and fixed her gaze upon him.

"Lucius, please leave me. I don't—" she whispered. She looked more closely. "Draco? Is it really you?"

"Mother." He set down his bag and ventured a step forward. Narcissa leapt from her seat, throwing herself at him.

"Oh, Draco! Your hair—I thought—you look so like him, but—I was so worried! Where _were_ you, my child?" She touched his face as if to be sure that he was real. "

"I'm sorry, mother. It was all just too much. I—I had to get away. I—"

The door was suddenly thrown open and Lucius swept in.

"Where is he? Stand aside, Narcissa!" He stormed across the room, shoving his wife aside roughly when she tried to shield her son and grabbed Draco by his jacket.

"The _nerve!_ Have you _any idea_ how much effort I put into assuring a suitable match? And you disappear without a word or trace like some petulant child!"

"Take your hands off me!" Draco hissed. The two men scuffled a moment, ending with wands drawn within inches of each other's face. "What makes you think I want to marry the daughter of anyone associated with _you_?" Draco spat. Lucius stared at him in shock. He eyed his son with barely controlled rage.

"Are you wearing _muggle_ clothing?"

"That's right. I've spent the last month living among muggles, Lucius. I've learned how to use their devices and studied their culture. And look—I survived! Furthermore, I will _not_ be attending Durmstrang. I've petitioned Hogwarts School for re-admittance and my request has been granted. While you were making your grand social plans, it appears to have escaped your notice, Lucius, that I am of age and my birthright has been transferred. You may consider this visit a courtesy. I will be establishing my residence at Antares Hall as of this evening. I will no longer be your pawn." Draco scowled at the elder Malfoy and turned to his mother.

"Draco—please don't do this!" she begged.

"How _dare_ you!" Lucius snarled, firing a curse at his son.

"NO!" Narcissa screamed when Draco's image exploded into dust.

"Expelliarmus!" Lucius' wand sailed through the air and Draco deftly caught it from the opposite corner of the large room.

"What—how?" Lucius stammered. Draco approached him menacingly.

"Oh, yes, Lucius. I may have learned much about these muggles while I was abroad, but I happened upon a rather unconventional magical education as well. And make no mistake—" he leveled his wand at his father with an ominous sneer. "If you _ever_ lay hands upon my mother in such a way again, I-will- _end-_ you."

Draco knelt beside Narcissa. "Forgive me mother." He kissed her forehead and placed his father's wand in her hands before leaving the room.


	9. Revelations

**_Revelations_**

Épiphanie closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She took the cup from the woman sitting across from her. She opened her eyes and concentrated on the tea leaves scattered over the cup. She rotated the cup a few times, observing it from several angles.

"Is there—" the woman began.

"Shh!" Épiphanie snapped. She stopped turning the cup and stared down at it. Images of an anchor, triangles and a palm tree formed in her vision. She also saw a heart.

"The tea cup reveals good fortune for you. I see a lover and much success. I see the letter "L"- perhaps his name begins with "L" but you have not met him yet because he seems to be in the future – not far distant perhaps but not in the present. I see success is about to crown some venture you have undertaken or are about to undertake." She frowned, discerning the image of an axe among the scattered remains. "But I must warn you that there seem to be difficulties closing in upon you in the near future."

The woman frowned. "Oh." Épiphanie looked at her and gave her a smile.

"No need to worry, in this tea cup, good fortune more than outweighs the bad. I see a marriage. It could very well be your own. It seems certain that this good fortune that is coming will be most unexpected!" Épiphanie gently set the cup on the saucer and the woman sighed gratefully, gripping both her hands.

 _I knew it! Lamont is going to propose! He wasn't cheating on me after all!_

Épiphanie pressed her lips together tightly, to avoid laughing out loud.

 _Just pay the girl, and don't be so hasty to forgive Lamont. Let him come to you, sugar!_

"Oh, thank you. I can't believe how gifted you are! All of my friends told me to come to you. It's almost like you're inside my head!" The woman opened her purse and fished out several large bills, placing them on the table.

"You're very generous, ma'am." Épiphanie held her hands together, steepling her fingers and inclined her head. The silver and wood bangles adorning her wrists jangled and clinked. "Thank you."

She counted the money—1000 dollars, and placed it into the pocket of her dress after the woman exited, leaving her alone the courtyard. She let out a long sigh, vanishing the dishes with a wave of her hand, and pulled a frown.

" _Maman, vos visiteurs veulent me voir_?" she asked, and turned to the quartet watching quietly from the first floor sitting room. She passed the spiral stair and stepped into the room. Her mother sat with a well-dressed gentleman, an elderly white woman whose spectacles and severe bun reminded Épiphanie of a nun, and a young man close to her age with unruly dark hair and eyeglasses with round frames that drew out his startling green eyes. Her eyes were drawn back to the man seated beside her mother. He sat in a regal way that reminded her a bit of Draco, and his tailored suit seemed in stark contrast to the gleaming gold hoop in his ear. He returned her gaze and she twisted her mouth into a defiant smirk.

"Please, sit down, sha."

Épiphanie flopped into the nearest side chair, crossing her legs at the knee and folding her arms across her chest.

"Fannie, this is Kingsley Shacklebolt. He's—"

"I _know_ who he is."

"But, I haven't—"

"Maman! In the time it took me to cross the courtyard, you worked at least three scenarios of introduction in your head. The very position in the way y'all two are sitting says you aren't strangers. Besides, you _never_ invite clients into the sitting room. So, either this is an intervention—for what I could certainly have no idea—or this man is my father."

"Épiphanie, I appreciate that this is an awkward situation for you. But you will be polite, or so help me, _Je vas te passe une calotte_!" her mother snapped. Épiphanie sat up properly, sighing audibly.

"Forgive me, sir. I am pleased to meet you, and these are your companions?"

"Épiphanie, the pleasure is all mine. I am delighted to see what an extraordinary beauty you have grown into."

"Thank you, sir. I do get the distinct feeling, however, that there is something you wish to share with me. It appears that I am the only person here who is in the dark as to what that is, so speak freely." She perched on the edge of her seat. Kingsley cleared his throat.

"Your mother tells me that you have a very unique skill set, divination among other things?"

"Yes, sir." Was she about to learn that this man was a wizard?

"Would you care to demonstrate?" asked the woman.

"I'm sorry? Demonstrate what?" Épiphanie knew what she was being asked, but she feigned ignorance, her heart hammering in her chest. The room suddenly felt unbearably hot. They _were_ magical.

"Épiphanie, I realize that meeting me after all this time is quite a shock. It was your mother's wish to raise you on her own. However, it has become apparent to her that you may have inherited some traits that are peculiar to your paternal lineage." Kingsley stood and reached into his jacket withdrawing a wand. Épiphanie gripped the arms of her chair as the room seemed to spin. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them. The lights in the room flickered.

"Fannie?" her mother started.

"It's fine, Angelique. She's just nervous. Clearly, she has figured it out," Kingsley looked directly at Épiphanie. "Am I right? Take a deep breath, my child." She closed her eyes and complied. "Better?" Épiphanie nodded, unable to speak. "Épiphanie, I am a wizard. You are able to perform magic, yes?" Épiphanie nodded again. "That is because you are a witch. Would you care to show me what you can do?" he asked, gently.

"I—um—okay." Épiphanie's voice was barely a whisper, as her throat was dry. She held out her hand and conjured a flame.

" _Mais, jamais d'la vie_!" Angelique exclaimed.

"Is there something else you would like to show me?" he asked.

Épiphanie looked over to the sideboard and it transformed into a piano.

 _You can read minds too. Am I right?_

"Yes, I can," she replied, looking at the boy. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Épiphanie, I'd like to introduce you to Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And this is Harry Potter."

Épiphanie regarded Harry curiously, but concealed her surprise. _This_ was the boy responsible for saving the world?

"Maman? Did you know all this?" she asked.

"No, ma chère. I only knew that there was something about Kingsley; that perhaps he had some sort of powers, but I was never sure, and our relationship ended before either of us knew that I was pregnant."

"But—"

"Épiphanie, there is a statute that prevented me from sharing this information with your mother, and although I did eventually learn that you had been born, recent events in Britain's wizarding community necessitated that you were safer here with her," Kingsley explained. Épiphanie knew that he was referring to the wizarding war that Draco had told her about.

"But why are you all here, now? What is going on, Maman? I'm trying to behave, but I can get the information I want without waiting for you all to dance around it. You know that." Épiphanie was growing impatient. This was not the way she expected to meet her father.

"There is no need for legilimency, my child." Kingsley took a seat in the chair beside hers. "I understand that you are a direct descendant of Madame Marie Laveau. She too was a witch, one of the most powerful witches of her day. Your mother and I have kept in touch over the years and have recently spoken at length. I am of the opinion based upon her descriptions of your behavior of late, that you have a rather extensive knowledge of magic. Am I correct in this assessment?"

Épiphanie sighed in frustration and defeat. "Yes. I learned it from her."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"But that's not possible; Ma Mère Marie is long dead, for over a century—"

"She _is_ the one who taught me!" Épiphanie insisted. "That's where I've been disappearing to. I met her ghost years ago. She taught me how to do lots of spells, charms, hexes…"

"Fannie no one can actually _see_ the spirits—"

"But I _can_ see them! It's how I'm so successful with the clients. I can read their thoughts. I _can_ talk to the spirits they want to hear from!"

"Madame, witches and wizards are able to actually see and communicate with ghosts, not just feel their essence the way that muggles do," explained Minerva.

"Ohh." Her mother was awestruck.

"Épiphanie, I hope that perhaps you might agree to return to England with me. You can learn more about the wizarding world, and attend Hogwarts School where you can learn more magic among teens like yourself."

"I—but I'm about to start my junior year. I—mean—how would I—"

"Perhaps I can be of assistance now, Kingsley." Minerva opened her purse and withdrew a wand. "My dear, yours is certainly a special case. Most students of your age have completed their Ordinary Wizarding Levels for admission at this level. However, as headmistress, I have the discretion of determining class placement in such a singular circumstance. From our initial observations, I do believe that a practical examination will allow me to ascertain your chances of success at the appropriate age level?"

"I—uh—okay?"

"Excellent. Given your superior demonstration of tasseography, I should think that we may consider that an O in Divination. Now, perhaps you can vanish the piano?" Minerva asked.

Épiphanie waved her hand and the piano disappeared and she replaced the sideboard.

"Outstanding!"

Épiphanie effortlessly performed a Levitation charm, color change, and a growth charm, turning the fountain in the courtyard into a swimming pool.

" _Mon dieu!"_ her mother exclaimed. "I think the third floor tenants might like that, though there would be some question as to how we did it so quickly!" she laughed.

"Quite!" Kingsley waved his wand and the pool became a fountain once more.

Épiphanie easily identified all of Jupiter's moons. Minerva explained that this was the question generally asked in the written portion of the astronomy exam.

"Superb, young lady! That is four Os! Now for Defense. Is there perhaps a larger, more private room available with less furniture?" she asked.

"The south attic?" Épiphanie suggested. She led them to the third floor and up another spiral staircase in a closet to the attic on the southern wing of the building. The large room was several feet deep and had a reasonably high ceiling with several windows to provide arches of light along one side. Minerva conjured a large mat for the floor.

"Now, then. I think for this, Harry, you may be of some assistance. Épiphanie do you know how to perform a shield charm?" the headmistress asked.

"Yes ma'am."

"And what is the incantation for that?" she asked.

"Protego."

"Excellent. Now, Mr. Potter will cast a spell in your direction. I should like for you to attempt to block it. Do not worry, he is quite skilled and this is a controlled environment." She gestured for them to step on opposite ends of the mat. "When you are ready." Harry looked a bit unsure.

"Headmistress, she doesn't have a wand."

"Oh, _trust,_ I don't need a wand." Épiphanie cocked an eyebrow.

"Alright then. Incarcerous!" Ropes sprang forth, and were easily repelled by Épiphanie's shield.

"Stupefy!" She threw her hands out in front of her, and Harry's shield barely had time to stop the stunner. He gave her a look of surprise and cast a silent _Levicorpus_. Épiphanie rolled her eyes as the green light bounced off of her shield.

"Serpensortia!" A white light burst forth from Harry's wand and a large cobra appeared in the center of the room. It opened its hood and coiled into striking position.

Épiphanie tilted her head curiously to the right and looked at the snake. Angelique shrank back in horror, watching as the snake followed her head motion.

"Kingsley!" Angelique exclaimed in a whisper. He took her hand.

"Just—wait."

The group stared at the girl and the snake transfixed, and all wands in the room were pointed at the snake. Harry took a step forward, but Minerva held up a hand to stay him. Épiphanie nodded, with a vacant smile on her face and stared at the snake a moment more.

"Vipera Evanesca!" she whispered, and the snake disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.

Angelique sighed audibly and crossed herself.

"Well, now, Minerva! I would certainly think that performance merits an O for Defense. Wouldn't you?" Kingsley's voice was full of wonder and pride as he spoke.

"Indeed! Épiphanie, I have no doubt that you will fare perfectly well at N.E.W.T. levels. We can arrange for private tuition in those courses such as Herbology, and Potions as well as Arithmancy if necessary. I'm sure that the professors will be happy to accommodate the Minister's daughter."

"I'm sorry—Minister?—I don't follow." Épiphanie furrowed her brow.

"Ah, yes. I have failed to mention that I am Britain's Minister of Magic."

"You mean, like Prime Minister?"

"Something like that, yes. I preside over the governing body for England's wizarding world."

"Well, damn!" she exclaimed.

"Épiphanie," Kingsley stepped forward and took her hands in his. "I realize that you may be feeling overwhelmed. There is a great deal that you have yet to learn about our way of life, and you will be doing it under the spotlight of being my daughter. That is a heavy mantle to place on someone. It's why I invited Harry along to meet you. Once you hear his story, you will know that if there is anyone who knows what it is like to discover the wizarding world and be saddled with an immense responsibility, it is he. Know this, my dear. You have had my heart from the day that I learned of your birth. Everyone here wants what is in your best interest and we are all willing to assist you in every way possible as you learn to embrace our world. I would like very much to have the opportunity to get to know you and be a proper father. If you will have me?"

Épiphanie looked up into his soulful eyes. She began to notice scant features in his face that mirrored her own. This was the father that she had wondered about ever since Draco revealed the truth of her identity. His expression was placid, yet there was a faint expression of hopefulness in it which told her that the words he spoke in his clear and measured deep voice were sincere.

"I—yes. I'll go." She nodded and allowed her father to pull her into a strong embrace.

Épiphanie propped her feet on the balcony railing outside of her bedroom and leaned back in her chair, balancing it on the rear legs. She puffed on a cigar and closed her eyes, listening to the music that floated up from the bar across the street. The door of the bedroom next to hers opened, and she heard soft footsteps approaching.

"Have a seat, Harry," she said and conjured another chair. She held out the cigar. "It's Cuban."

"Ah, no thanks. I don't smoke." Harry sat down in the empty chair.

"Well, just don't tell my mother. I know it's odd for a girl to smoke cigars. People leave them as tribute to Ma Mère. When word of the accuracy of my readings and predictions got out, some people thought that I was her reincarnation. They started giving me offerings and cigars too. I started smoking when I was twelve. Sometimes I lace them with weed. Don't tell my mom that either."

"It'll be our secret. I can't guarantee that Kingsley will be too happy about this little habit though." he shrugged.

"Do you know him well?" she asked.

"I met him about three years ago, but he knew my parents. He's a good man. Quiet, and generally a private person though. He's risked his own life to save mine on more than one occasion."

"Wow."

"Yeah." Harry raked his hand through his hair, and then attempted to flatten it.

"Why do you try to hide it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"The scar. Why do you try to hide it?" she asked.

"It's not easy being famous. You'll learn."

"Yeah, I already know." She indicated the cigar in her hand. "Ma Mère is one of the main reasons that many people visit New Orleans—next to Mardi Gras. She has her own section in the public library. So many people have visited her tomb in the city of the dead, that the Archdiocese is considering closing the cemetery to the public. People come here just to lay eyes on me and have their fortune read because they believe that I'm possessed by her. Trust me Mr. Potter. I know what it is to be famous, at least on some level. I'm not possessed, by the way."

"I know." He smiled. She looked at him curiously. "You don't want to know," he said. "This is quite a vibrant city!"

"Yeah. I never thought I would want to live anywhere else. The Vieux Carre has been my playground my entire life. It raised me as much as Maman and Tantes Celeste and Arthémie have done."

"I am curious, though. How did you come to meet Madame Laveau's ghost? If you don't mind me asking."

"Ma Mère often walks the streets of the old Quarter. Her home, La Maison Blanche is just a few blocks that way. She saw me staring at the house one day and invited me in."

"Amazing. I wish we had more time, I would certainly like to visit her."

"Oh, the house is unplottable. Most people only see an empty lot with a plaque that lists it as a historic site."

"It's under a Fidelius charm?" he asked. Épiphanie nodded. "You're a secret-keeper?"

"Uh-huh."

"Amazing! You are quite the witch, do you know that?"

"Yeah, well. Whatever." She shrugged.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. A mounted police officer rode by and waved up at Épiphanie. " _Ca vien, bebelle?_ " he called out.

"I'm good!" she hollered back.

"Alright now! You stay outta trouble, _ma zirondelle_ , heah?"

"Go on now!" she waved.

"I never realized that Americans spoke such colorful dialects. I think I have no idea exactly what you said!" Harry exclaimed.

"Oh, he just asked after my well-being. _Bebelle_ is a Cajun term of endearment. It means _doll._ And _zirondelle_ means dragonfly. Down here, we're a gumbo pot of cultures. We got Cajuns and Creoles, speaking a mixture of French, Spanish and English, and some African dialects. I do speak proper French, though."

"Fleur would love you," he said. "She'll be so pleased that someone else among us speaks French."

"Ah." She nodded. "What's it really like? Do you think I'll fit in?"

"At Hogwarts? Well, I'm a bit biased, I think. Hogwarts is really the only true home I've ever known. My aunt and uncle weren't terribly kind to me as a little child, so I never considered their home to be my own. It's the grandest castle you've ever seen! It's nestled in the Scottish highlands above Hogsmeade village—that's a wizarding community. The landscape is spectacular. Riding a broom over the Black Lake is an exhilarating experience. Have you ridden a broom?" he asked.

"No. I'm pretty sure someone would have noticed that." She gestured around them.

"Oh, yes. That's true. Well, our Care of Magical Creatures professor, Rubeus Hagrid is a half giant! You'll probably meet him when you get off the train. He takes the first years to the castle by boat across the lake. I'm sure you'll make plenty of friends in your house. With any luck, you'll be in Gryffindor."

"Are all of your friends in your house?" she asked.

"Not all of them, but certainly my closest friends. Ron, Hermione, and Neville. My girlfriend Ginny too. She's Ron's sister. But Luna, she's a friend as well, is in Ravenclaw. Neville's girlfriend Hannah is in Hufflepuff. There's also Slytherin house. Don't worry; if you're as affable as the local constable thinks you are, I'm sure you'll have no trouble fitting in." He patted her knee. "It's late, and we have a long flight." He stood and stretched.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Good night, Épiphanie."

"Fais do-do."


	10. A Gentleman of Independent Means

**_A Gentleman of Independent Means_**

Draco had never visited Antares Hall until he apparated into the property after his unceremonious departure from Malfoy Manor. He was surprised to find the grand house to be located in London, near Kensington Palace, in a stylish muggle street known as The Boltons. It was immediately clear to Draco that the house wasn't nearly as old as Malfoy Manor, and wondered how the family came into possession of the place. Looking from the window of the second floor library, he also learned quite startlingly that the house was not under a Fidelius charm when a woman walking her dog on the street looked up at him and inclined her head in his direction.

"Curiouser and curiouser!" he exclaimed. "Diggy!" he called out. Presently a house-elf appeared at his side.

"Yes, Master Draco? What may Diggy do for you, sir" She gave a low bow, her large ears flopping against the marble floor. "Diggy and Tickety has Master Draco's suite all prepared. We is just finished. Would Master like his supper now?"

"No, thank you, Diggy." The elf stared at him in shock. She'd never heard him thank her in his entire life. "I was wondering what you knew about the house."

"Only that Master Abraxas purchased the property and outfitted it sometime before Master Lucius was born, but no one ever lived here, and Master Lucius added it to Master Draco's birthright. So now here Master is!"

"I wonder why there is no Fidelius Charm on the house." He said more to himself than to the elf. He shrugged. "Well, Diggy, we have much work to do. This house is perfectly unsuitable!"

"Oh, sir! Please forgive Diggy! We is not knowing that Master Draco is not liking the house. We is only preparing for his arrival!" she wailed, throwing herself at his feet and banging her head repeatedly on the hardwood floor.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Draco cursed, realizing that the elf thought that he was displeased with her work. "Diggy, stop that at once!" he snapped. "Look at me!"

The elf remained on her knees and turned her large eyes upward.

"I'm not displeased with you, Diggy. I only meant that I would like to make some changes. Tickety!" he called. Another elf appeared beside Diggy.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"Listen to me, both of you. I think I'd like to do things a little differently here. This is _my_ house, not my father's. Do you understand?" The elves nodded. "Good. Now, first, the house will continue to have a muggle address." The elves stared at one another and back at Draco. "Yes, I know. That is different. I will be returning to school, so you are responsible for the property while I am away. Do not allow the muggles to see you. Keep your clothes _clean_. I will _not_ have an unpresentable elf before my guests. Do you understand?" The elves nodded dutifully. "Good. You may sleep in the staff rooms in the basement."

"But, sir. Those rooms is so big! Surely we is not deserving of such lavish treatment!" Tickety exclaimed.

"Well, I have no plans to use them, so they might as well be good for something. Oh, there is just one more thing. Madame Narcissa may visit the property when she pleases. However, under _NO_ circumstance is Lucius Malfoy to enter this property without my express consent. Are we clear?" The elves nodded vigorously. "Fine. You are dismissed. There is no need to prepare a meal. I shall accommodate myself." The elves disapparated immediately and Draco set about placing protection spells on the property, including an anti-apparition charm. He decided to leave off Repello Muggletum and debated with himself for quite a while whether or not to place a Fidelius charm. Finally, he decided to forego it. Lucius already knew where he was, no one else did, and as the house wasn't already unplottable, he thought it might appear odd to the neighbors if the house were to suddenly disappear from sight.

Satisfied that the house was sufficiently protected, Draco retired to the library with a bottle of wine and his portable CD player. He inserted a disc and pressed _play._ To his delight, the muggle artifact worked! He pointed his wand at the headphones and cast a Sonorous charm. He cheered silently as the room filled with music and he placed the player on his desk, where he discovered a small pile of letters. He regretfully realized that these were the letters he'd penned to Épiphanie and never posted. It had been more than a week, and he was sure that she thought he'd forgotten her. Draco tossed the letters into the fireplace and retrieved fresh parchment from the desk. He took a sip of wine and sat down to write.

 _Dear Épiphanie_ ,

 _I sincerely hope that you can forgive me for failing to write before now. In fact, I have written several letters to you since my return to England, but to be honest, none of them seemed to convey what I was feeling. I have finished one of the books that you gave me:_ The Diary of a Young Girl. _When I look back upon my role in our wizarding war, I find myself feeling the tug of guilt for having been acquitted. Certainly, my family bears the responsibility for lives lost and families torn apart forever, even if it was not our wands that did the deed. Well, except Auntie Bella—she was truly a madwoman. No, I am not planning on making any late night excursions to the Thames for an endless swim. Do not be concerned for me. I have focused my energies into changing my outlook on the world. Upon my return, I spent a week in a muggle youth hostel. I don't know if you are familiar with the term. It is rather similar to the accommodations at your home. Apparently, hostels are quite popular in muggle Europe. I haven't made any friends, but I used the time to contemplate my future—not much progress there. Perhaps once I return to school, I may have some idea of what I would like to do with the rest of my life. I have made a few significant decisions, however. Father and I had a vicious row, complete with fisticuffs, wands drawn and curses thrown. Clearly Malfoy Manor cannot withstand the egos of two masters. However, since I am of age, I now have access my birthright—a sizeable sum of money and assets in a vault of my own as well as a few properties in my name. I have selected one of the properties and made it my home, so you may now consider me a man of independent means! I do confess that my mother was quite distressed by my decision to leave the Manor. I shall have to summon the courage to visit her as often as I can bear it. Oh! I didn't mention that my home is located in a muggle district of London! It appears to be a lovely neighborhood—two crescent streets with a communal garden in the centre. I've not yet had the opportunity to explore the neighborhood, but I do believe that my next muggle project may well be to obtain an automobile. Yes, it's quite ambitious, I know! I have contemplated your conjecture as to whether your father may in fact be a wizard. I do believe that there is a distinct possibility that he is—or was. (Sorry to be so maudlin, but the war took its toll on many.) The place that you say your mother told you she met your father—I know it. There is a bookshop on the muggle street, just outside of a wizarding pub. Despite my current social position, I do still have some connections. If you would like me to try, perhaps I might be able to learn who your father may be. If you can persuade your mother to tell you his name, I may be able to discover his identity and whether he survived the war. I don't want to get your hopes up, I just feel compelled to help you solve this mystery. I know that I have already told you this, but I feel that you have changed my life. I don't know if I would be sitting here writing this letter if we had never met. For that, I am ever in your debt. My petition to return to school was accepted, and I shall return on 1 September. I find myself quite looking forward to it and I plan to make the best of every opportunity. I think I should like to attempt to make amends for some of the wrongs that I committed in my ignorant fervor. I only hope that Harry and his friends accept my olive branch without suspicion. I doubt it, but my conscience will be clear. I do hope that this letter finds you well._

 _With all my love,_

 _Draco Malfoy_

 _P.S. I bought a Discman and LOTS of CDs at the airport. Happily, it still functions in my house. I hope to attempt a telephone next. I think I really like this Tupac Shakur. I understand that he was murdered two years ago. How unfortunate! The lyrics of his poetry are quite profound!_

They apparated into the foyer at Kingsley's home, her father explaining that the house was located in a muggle neighborhood, and she should therefore only apparate directly into the house or the attached garage. Kingsley chuckled. "The neighbors tease that I'm some sort of recluse, and they would suggest that I perhaps suffer from agoraphobia if they didn't see me in the garden or walking to the corner with my post. However, you will be happy to note that your electronics do work in the house. This is not the case for many witches and Wizards, due to magical interference." Come; let me give you the lie of the land, my dear."

Épiphanie looked around as Kingsley indicated the dining room through a set of double doors on her left. A row of columns defined the reception room on her right. The walls were a sunny yellow and the furniture and draperies complemented the walls in shades of red and gold. Épiphanie was drawn to the scarlet settee with its large cushions. The furniture was arranged around a hearth with a large gilt mirror above the mantelpiece. Kingsley pointed to two sets of double doors on the opposite wall, and she followed him down the hall and into the library. The walls were lined on two sides with breakfront bookcases filled with leather bound tomes. The hearth was flanked by a large window on one side and a French door that led to stone patio and faced a large desk, laden with parchments and a well-worn leather chair. Kingsley pointed to a door on the far side of the room. "My bedchamber is just there."

She followed him from the library and down a short hallway where he pointed out the butler's pantry and a set of stairs that led down to the kitchens and wine cellar. There was also a rear entrance to the dining room. An open archway on the right led into a modest drawing room with a grand piano at the near end. This room also had a large hearth and was outfitted with traditional Georgian furniture. Although it was dark outside, Épiphanie could just make out the shapes of trees in the garden beyond the windows. There was another small library just off the far end of the room. "It is largely disused, but perhaps you would like to make it your own," he suggested. "Now, let us advance to the second floor, shall we?" They returned to the foyer and he led her up a grand staircase that landed in a wide gallery. The walls were lined with paintings and Épiphanie was astounded to discover that the subjects of the paintings could actually move and speak! "These are your ancestors my dear. Do take the opportunity to get to know them, although at this late hour, I'm sure they will be rather disinclined to engage in conversation." His voice was low as he spoke. "I thought you might like this suite. He opened a door at the end of the hall.

Épiphanie looked around the large room. The walls were a cool tiffany blue, trimmed with white crown moulding. A large bed with sumptuous satin bedding and a tufted headboard was the focal point of the room. Traditional shaded sconces flanked each side of the bed above elegant night tables. A hearth faced the bed with two comfortable-looking tufted armchairs with upholstery that matched the bed. A knit throw was draped over the side of one of the chairs and an arrangement of candles decorated the mantelpiece. A large bay window overlooked the gardens below and featured an inviting window seat with an array of cushions to match the walls. It was framed by built-in breakfront bookcases with glass doors and shaded sconces to illuminate the seat. A vanity that matched the night tables faced the windows on the other side of the room. The suite had a lavish lavatory with a deep white porcelain slipper tub adorned with silver imperial claw feet and a gleaming faucet with a hand shower that reminded Épiphanie of an antique telephone receiver. Beside the bath was a magnificent walk-in closet with double hanging areas for her blouses, skirts and trousers and separate full-length hanging compartments for her dresses, plenty of shelving and drawers for folded items, a compartmented shelf for shoes and a tufted bench in the center beneath a dainty crystal chandelier. She was surprised to find that her clothing and belongings were already sorted and stowed away.

"Ah, yes. That would be Topsy's doing." Kingsley said.

"Topsy? Isn't that the name of the slave girl from _Uncle Tom's Cabin?"_ she asked. Kingsley gave a hearty chuckle.

"It is, but ironically, it is also the name of one of my house elves."

Épiphanie gave him a curious look and he gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs before the fire. "Perhaps I should explain. House elves are magical creatures who are immensely devoted to their masters. Not all wizards and witches own house elves. Topsy has been with the Shacklebolt family for only about two generations. You may find the concept a bit difficult to accept, owing to our history of slavery in the muggle world, but you must understand some very important things about house elves. Some families severely mistreat their elves and you will no doubt encounter some elves whose appearance is quite vile—tattered and filthy rags. Topsy has been well-treated by my family and you will see the difference between her and others that you meet largely by the cleanliness and variety of her towels, but you must _never_ give her proper clothing."

"Why not?" Épiphanie was appalled by what her father was telling her. _Ragged elves who live like slaves?_

"The _only_ mission of a house elf is to serve the needs of witches and wizards. They have their own unique brand of magic and will use it to protect you, even at their own peril. Giving an elf clothes is tantamount to setting them free, but elves consider it the highest insult to be offered gifts and payment—especially clothing. You must be patient with elves, for they tend to harm themselves quite terribly if they believe that they have displeased their masters."

"Oh, my god!"

"I know it is alarming to think, but as I said the Shacklebolt elves are well respected and treated with kindness."

"There's more than one?"

"Her brother Patches also serves the house and is my personal valet. Topsy has always been the ladies' maid, so she will attend to the majority of your needs when you are home, but you may feel free to call on Patches if you need. They live in the basement behind the kitchen pantry and generally make themselves scarce when muggles are around. Topsy! Patches!"

Épiphanie gave a startled leap when the two house elves appeared in the center of the room. They were similarly attired in linen tunics that looked to be made of old pillow cases, and one had a hem embroidered with pale flowers. Épiphanie assumed that this was Topsy. The tiny creatures bowed low and their floppy ears touched the ground.

"Welcome home, Master Shacklebolt! What can Topsy do for the Minister of Magic?" the elf in the embroidered tunic spoke first, confirming Épiphanie's conclusion.

"I am quite well at the moment, Topsy, thank you. I merely called you to meet my daughter, Épiphanie Marie Catherine Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt."

"Welcome, Mistress!" they squealed, bowing again.

"We is so happy that Mistress is home at last! We live to serve the house of Shacklebolt and are happy to provide Mistress Épiphanie Marie Catherine Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt with all of her needs!" Topsy exclaimed and snapped her fingers. The bed turned itself down and a small tray appeared on the side table with a warm cup of cocoa and plate of sugar cookies.

"Oh, my gosh! That's so cool!" Épiphanie exclaimed. Kingsley let out a hearty laugh.

"Well, that is all, Topsy. Patches. You may go." He dismissed the elves and they disapparated with a crack. Kingsley turned back to Épiphanie and stood. "Well, it is late, and we do have the press conference in the morning at the ministry. After that, Harry has invited us to Grimmauld Place for lunch. You can see the gardens and the conservatory where the owls roost tomorrow when there is more light. I am so pleased that you have decided to come here, my child. I do hope that you will come to think of it as another home." He gave her a smile and left the room.

Épiphanie gave a weary sigh. The day had been quite exhausting with the long flight and customs process. But she was filled with restless energy as she explored her expansive bedroom suite. There was a painting above the mantelpiece that depicted a garden table set for tea as if someone was expected at any moment. A small dog slept on the ground beside one of the chairs. It rolled over and panted loudly for a moment, as if responding to its dreams, then settled back into its curled position. Épiphanie laughed softly. She opened the doors of one of the bookshelves and scanned the titles. _Hogwarts: A History, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ There was a series of books all titled _The Standard Book of Spells._ She saw that each of them was indicated with a grade level.

"Hm, These must be textbooks," she murmured. She flipped through another book titled _Tales of Beedle the Bard,_ and lightly touched the collection of porcelain dolls on another shelf before closing the cabinet. Épiphanie returned to the table and took up her cocoa and the plate of cookies, carrying them to the window seat where she curled up and summoned the knitted throw, which draped itself over her legs. She rested her head against the bookshelf and gazed up at the moon from her window as she sipped the decadent hot chocolate.

"Damn, these elves certainly make a mean cup of cocoa!" she remarked. "Hello, world. I'm here," she murmured.

The young blond wizard standing at the library window of the grand residence on the opposite crescent of The Boltons stared up at the moon with an expression of contentment as he sipped a glass of wine.

"Welcome to your new home," he murmured.


	11. Debut

**_Debut_**

Épiphanie wasn't sure when she had climbed into bed, or indeed, how she had gotten there. She had a vague memory of dozing on the window seat, but as the first rays of light filtered through the light curtains at the window, she opened her eyes and let out a sigh, snuggling deeper into the opulent linens of the luxurious bed. She yawned and stretched as she sat up, her eyes landing upon a covered breakfast tray on a small table in the space between the bed and the sitting area.

 _It's in the middle of the room! How did I miss a whole table and two chairs?_ Épiphanie shook her head. _Magic!_

She took a seat in one of the chairs and spread a napkin over her lap, lifting the lid from the tray to reveal a light breakfast of toast with bacon and eggs, accompanied by freshly squeezed orange juice and a cup of tea. She pinched her lips together for a moment and let out a breath.

"Umm, Topsy?" she ventured. The elf appeared immediately.

"Yes, miss? Is you liking breakfast?" she asked timidly.

"Uh, yes. It looks good, thanks. I was wondering do you know how to make café au lait?" Épiphanie asked.

"Oh, yes, miss!" the elf squeaked. "Is there anything else Topsy can do for miss?"

"No, I guess not?" her statement appearing more as a question.

"Oh, Miss Épiphanie, there is no need to be afraid. Topsy _lives_ to serve the house of Shacklebolt! Topsy will do anything for Mistress Glapion-Shacklebolt! Anything!" the elf exclaimed.

"Okay, well. I'll try to be more direct. Just the coffee for now, please. Thank you."

The elf disappeared and returned shortly with a perfect cup of café au lait. Épiphanie tucked into her breakfast then headed for the lavatory to bathe. She could have spent the rest of her days immersed in the deep bubbles of the amazing bathtub, but she was aware that their schedule for the day was quite full and forced herself to climb out of the antique bath. Épiphanie dressed carefully, as she wanted to look her best for the press conference. She chose a favorite dress that had once belonged to her mother. It was a traditional Ethiopian Habesha Telf dress of handwoven white cotton fabric, hand embroidered around the hem, collar and cuffs with a wide band of vibrant gold. A traditional column of embroidery also adorned the front of the dress, ending with an elaborate Coptic cross design in the center of the full skirt. She chose a pair of soft leather slippers for her feet and sat down at the vanity to address her hair. Épiphanie divided her long tresses in the middle and expertly braided tiny _cornrows_ that swept away from her face to just behind her ears, where the remaining curls of her mane cascaded down her back. She lightly dusted her face and put on a pair of gold disc earrings. Épiphanie studied her appearance in the mirror and frowned. Something was missing. She called for Topsy.

"I wonder if you can help me with something. I would do it myself, but I am pressed for time," she asked.

"Anything mistress! Topsy is happy to help!"

Kingsley stood in the foyer waiting for his daughter, his muggle clothing retired, as he was adorned in his favored attire of flowing robes of deep blue with heavy traditional African embroidery and a matching kufi upon his head. His eyes widened in delighted surprise when Épiphanie alighted the landing at the turn in the grand staircase.

"Am I dressed appropriately, sir?" She adjusted the handwoven netela covering her head and shoulders with fingers decorated in delicate Ethiopian henna designs.

"My daughter, you are a vision! Come." She descended the stairs and he took her arm in his. "Are you ready?"

They apparated directly into his office where a thin young man with shockingly red hair awaited them.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley! Good morning. Allow me to present my daughter, Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt."

The young man smiled officiously, and extended his hand. "An absolute pleasure, Miss. I'm Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic. We are delighted to welcome you today!" he gushed as he shook her hand with a slightly stiff bow.

"Oh, um, well thank you. I'm happy to be here," she replied gingerly extricating her hand from his.

"I've just been informed that the press is assembled in the atrium. The press release is here and we can begin whenever you are ready."

"Yes, thank you, Percy. Has Professor McGonagall arrived?" Kingsley asked as he scanned over the parchment that the young man handed him.

"Yes sir. I've had her wait in reception."

"I beg your pardon," Kingsley raised an eyebrow. Realizing his faux pas, the young man hurried from the room. He returned in short order and Minerva swept into the room. Épiphanie thought the stately old woman looked much more at ease in the dark green tartan robes and pointed hat that she wore than the matronly muggle dress in which she was attired on their first meeting.

"Weasley," she said curtly, throwing Percy a withering gaze as she passed. He blushed brightly and withdrew from the room, closing the door behind him.

"Headmistress, do forgive me for keeping you waiting," said Kingsley.

"Think nothing of it, Minister. My dear Épiphanie! You look radiant!" she exclaimed.

"Thank you ma'am." Épiphanie inclined her head.

"Well, the press are certainly chomping at the bit. I suppose we shan't keep them waiting," she said. "Lest the Prophet decide to print their own version of the story. I'm certain I saw Rita Skeeter lurking amongst the reporters." She set her lips into a thin line.

They took the lift to the atrium of the Ministry and Épiphanie gazed around in wonderment. The ceiling was peacock blue with golden symbols moving over it and a floor of highly polished dark wood. In the center of the atrium was a large fountain featuring golden statues of a wizard, a witch, a centaur, goblin (she supposed) and a house-elf. Each figure spouted water from various ports into the large pool below. She followed Percy off to the side while Kingsley and Minerva continued through a golden gate and made their way to the other side of the fountain and onto an elevated platform where a large crowd of reporters were gathered, rushing forward as they took their places.

"Minister! Is it true that you fathered an illegitimate child with a muggle?"

"Minister why are you just acknowledging the girl now? Are you ashamed?"

The reporters clamored for attention as cameras flashed. Kingsley raised his hand and calmly waited for the crowd to quiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I am pleased to announce that my daughter has arrived in England to complete her education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which re-opens its doors next week, following extensive postwar reconstruction. Until recently, she has resided with her mother in the city of New Orleans, Louisiana in the United States of America. Due to my former position in the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic, and given the events of the recent wars, we considered that it was in her best interest to be raised abroad with her mother's family."

"Does she know any magic? Did she attend Ilvermorny? Will Hogwarts now be admitting exchange students, Headmistress?" the reporters shouted as Minerva stepped forward.

"Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt has previously received _private_ tuition," she emphasized, giving Kingsley a measured look as she spoke. He gave an imperceptible nod. "We are no doubt making an exception for her, in deference to the Minister. However, I can assure you that she makes entrance with the skills appropriate to N.E.W.T. level instruction."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to now present to you, my daughter: Miss Épiphanie Marie Catherine Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt."

Épiphanie took Percy's elbow and stepped through the gates. She was blinded by the strobes of many flashbulbs popping as she carefully stepped up onto the platform and faced the audience.

"Miss Shacklebolt! Miss Shacklebolt! Are you resentful of your father for denying you? Miss Shacklebolt! How does your mother feel about being abandoned with a child to raise? Why are you attending Hogwarts instead of Ilvermorny?" the reporters surged forward, all shouting at once. Épiphanie blinked and pasted on a genial smile.

"You don't have to make a statement, my dear. We can issue a press release with anything you'd like to say," Kingsley spoke close to her ear, taking her hand. She patted his hand before letting it go and stepping forward with a curtsy, clearing her throat. The crowd fell silent with anticipation.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am pleased to be here today and I am thrilled to be in the United Kingdom. As you have been informed, my parents thought it best for me to be raised in the United States, but my father has been eager for quite some time for me to join him here. I am enthusiastic about building and strengthening my relationship with him. I am admittedly nervous to be attending such a venerable institution as Hogwarts School, but I am also excited. I hope to forge new friendships and I look forward to expanding my knowledge of magic. I endeavor to leave a positive imprint upon his legacy. Thank you." Épiphanie inclined her head and stepped back. They were obliged to stand for photographs for several more minutes before the reporters all rushed to make their evening or special editions, dashing to the rows of hearths along the other end of the atrium.

Percy gave her a tour of the ministry, and she was never more thrilled to see the back of anyone as she was when he finally returned her to Kingsley's office. She practically fell into a chair before his desk. Her father shared a laugh with Minerva.

"Perhaps a tour wasn't the best idea—at least not with Percy."

"Ya think?" Épiphanie muttered. "I suppose he's nice enough, but mon dieu! I'm surprised he didn't lose his voice—all that _talking!_ God bless his mother!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, you'll find Molly is quite a gem!" remarked the headmistress.

"And the rest of the family is quite affable. I do believe that Harry has invited them to join us for lunch. Although, I must warn you, my child, that Arthur has an effusive fascination with all things muggle." There was a knock at the door, and a tall, thin gentleman with thinning red hair entered the room. His clothes were a tad on the shabby side, but his appearance had the overall look of someone who was well cared for and comfortable in his own skin. He smiled broadly as he entered. "Ah, Arthur! Perfect timing! We were just about to depart." Kingsley greeted the man warmly, gripping his hand tightly. He turned to Épiphanie. "My daughter."

"The pleasure is all mine, milady! My, Kingsley! No doubt she'll keep your wand hand busy fending off admirers!"

"Oh, I think you'll find Épiphanie's defensive skills are more than capable of warding off unwanted suitors!" Kingsley bragged. "Shall we?" He pointed to the fireplace. Épiphanie pulled a bemused face. "We'll be going by floo network. It allows us to travel to connected locations without the worry of being accidentally seen by muggles if we were to apparate or fly by broom. I assure you it is quite harmless if done properly. All you have to do is take a handful of floo powder and toss it into the fireplace. When the flames turn green, step in and _clearly_ state your destination. You won't be burned. We're going to _12 Grimmauld Place._ Minerva and Arthur will go first, so you can see how it's done." Kingsley passed a coal scuttle that was filled with what looked, to Épiphanie, like ash. Arthur and Minerva each took a handful in turn.

Arthur tossed the powder into the grate and a bright green flame burst forth. He stepped into the hearth and said loudly and clearly. "Twelve Grimmauld Place!" With a whoosh he disappeared. The headmistress followed and did the same. Kingsley passed the floo powder and Épiphanie took a handful.

"Very good, now remember. It's _Twelve Grimmauld Place._ Speak clearly."

"Twelve Grimmauld Place," she repeated. He nodded and Épiphanie tossed the floo powder into the grate. Kingsley gestured her to step into the green flames. She did so, nervously and found that they were in fact not warm at all. " _Twelve Grimmauld Place!_ " she exclaimed. The flames swirled around her and Épiphanie felt as if she was spinning in a top. Glimpses of other fireplaces sped by and suddenly she stumbled quite gracelessly into a large sitting room with dark paneling on the walls, a hand reached out to take hers before she fell.

"I'd say she did that rather well for the first time!" Someone remarked as she examined her clothing for soot stains, grateful to discover there was only a touch of ash on her hem. Épiphanie's eyes traveled up the arm of the hand that held hers and found herself staring at yet another red haired man. This one wasn't quite as tall as Percy or Arthur. His build was stocky and reminded Épiphanie a bit of the boys who played football at her school. He had a friendly, mischievous grin and she noticed after a moment, that he was missing an ear. "I'm George Weasley."

"How do you do?" She smiled shyly and shook his hand. "I'm Épiphanie Glapion—um—Glapion-Shacklebolt. But you can just call me Épiphanie."

"Oh, good, you made it!" Kingsley said, as he stepped out of the hearth with practiced poise. "Good to see you, George!" he clapped the young man on the back. Harry rose from his place on the grey silk couch and came forward.

"Épiphanie!" He gave her a friendly hug and pulled her further into the room. "These are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley." She shook their hands.

"Hi. I've heard a lot about you."

"Wow, Harry, you were right, she does look a bit like 'Mione!" Ron exclaimed. Épiphanie turned to look at Hermione. She supposed there was some resemblance, though Hermione's hair and complexion were lighter, and she could benefit from some orthodontics. She did have quite a mane of hair, however.

"Must be the hair," they said at the same time, and laughed.

"This is Ginny, Ron's sister." Épiphanie greeted the red haired girl with a smile.

"Oh, _there_ she is! My goodness, what beautiful robes!" Épiphanie found herself enveloped in a crushing hug and a flurry of more red hair.

"Lemme guess—Mrs. Weasley?" Épiphanie smiled.

"I'm sure that was a riddle, yes?" the plump matriarch laughed. "Goodness, Kingsley! She looks the picture of an elegant princess! So tall and statuesque! I'm sure she'll be a regular feature in Witch Weekly!" Épiphanie blushed at the comment. "Well, come along everyone. Kreacher is just putting the food on the table!" Molly ordered, ushering the group into the grand dining room where a long table was laid with fine china and steaming dishes placed in the center awaited them.

George gallantly offered her a chair and she took a seat, inhaling the rich aromas from the covered tureens on the table. There was something familiar about them.

"Is that—Harry you made _gumbo?_ " she asked incredulously.

"Well, the food was just so delicious that I purchased a cookbook at the French Market. Mrs. Weasley helped. There's also Shrimp Étouffée, and jambalaya. Just our way of welcoming you!"

"Well alright now!" she exclaimed.

"Tuck in, everyone!" Molly directed. Épiphanie explained that the gumbo and Étouffée were best enjoyed over rice, and soon the room was filled only with the sounds of appreciative murmurs and silverware clinking against bowls and plates.

"Épiphanie, my dear, that was a most poised statement you gave to the press. Don't you think so, Kingsley?" Minerva commented.

"Indeed!"

"So the press conference went well?" Hermione asked. "I can't _wait_ to see how Rita Skeeter manages to besmirch it all!" She rolled her eyes and sipped her pumpkin juice.

"Vile insect!" Ron snorted.

"Who is this Rita Skeeter?" Épiphanie asked.

"She's an absolutely _odious_ journalist—to use the term quite loosely—who writes for the Daily Prophet. You might have noticed her in the crowd—blond ringlets, red lips and a garish ensemble?"

"The flashes were so bright, I hardly noticed anyone there."

"Well, get used to it, love. You may very well unseat Harry from the front page! Not that we aren't _delighted_ to see 'The Boy Who Lived'—" George began.

"The Savior of the Wizarding World—" added Ron

"The _Golden_ Boy—mugging back at us over our tea _every single_ morning!" George finished. "But methinks the lady's visage art far more fair than he." He gave her a wink.

"Careful, George." Arthur admonished his son's flirtation.

"I'm sorry, Dad. Perhaps a little _louder_ next time. You see, I'm a trifle deaf in one ear these days."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Molly gave an exasperated laugh.

"Now then, I'd like to know what it was like flying on an air-o-plane!" Arthur's voice was full of excitement and wonder as he spoke. She couldn't help but giggle. Harry joined in with her laughter.

"I rather think Professor McGonagall would have preferred traveling in the belly of a dragon!" Harry teased.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, for pure cheek, Mr. Potter."

"Since when do you deduct points _before_ the school term?" he chuckled.

"So, I can take that to mean that you will be returning for your N.E.W.T.S?"

"Mum wouldn't stop going on about how George and—" he faltered a moment. "George and Fred were the only ones of her children she would allow to drop out of school," Ron said.

"To which Harry replied that he wasn't her child," said Ginny.

"Oh, bad move!" George exclaimed.

"…and Mum said that she'd served him enough meals, washed enough of his socks, and knitted him enough jumpers to qualify him as her seventh Weasley son." Ron finished, and ladled another bowl full of gumbo. The table erupted into peals of laughter.

Épiphanie relaxed into the casual banter of the group at the table. It was clear to her that this was a close-knit clan of family and friends. She was happy to be accepted into the fold.


	12. Missed Opportunities

**_Missed Opportunities_**

Draco stood scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions as the witch made alterations to the uniform he was wearing.

"This will do just fine, Madam Malkin. I shall take the same number of uniforms as usual, and if you would owl me at this address, I'll send my elf to pick them up." He paid her and retired to the dressing room to change.

Épiphanie stepped out of the floo in the Leaky Cauldron, followed by her father, Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys—minus Arthur, who had returned to the ministry for a meeting. They hurried through the pub to the back yard before anyone could begin to mob the Golden Trio.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Épiphanie!" Harry exclaimed as they stepped through the opening in the brick wall of the yard behind the Leaky Cauldron. She gazed up the cobblestone street, teeming with all manner of witches and wizards going about the business of commerce. In the distance, she saw the white stone building of Gringotts Bank, and her eyes followed the street, past stalls where venders were hawking their wares and haggling with one another. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought that she landed right in the middle of a renaissance fair, or the pages of a Dickensian novel.

"This is awesome!" she murmured.

Harry, Ron and Ginny headed off in the direction of Quality Quidditch Supplies to replenish their kits. George left for his shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione went in search of textbooks at Flourish and Blotts. Kingsley placed Épiphanie's hand at his elbow.

"I think we should get you a wand, my dear." He led her to Ollivander's.

The interior of the shop was dark and quite dusty. It was so crowded with long thin boxes, that Épiphanie almost didn't notice the white-haired old man who emerged from a narrow corridor between the stacks behind the counter until he spoke.

"Ah, Minister! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Mr. Ollivander, allow me to introduce my daughter, Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt. She has just arrived from the United States and is in need of a wand."

"Daughter? Well, now! This is quite a revelation! And _quite_ the Abyssinian visage!" he gushed. He looked her over carefully. "But you are not a first year—a replacement wand, yes? What was your last one made of?" he queried as he began pulling various boxes from the shelves.

"I'm sorry. I've never had a wand before," she replied. The old man gave her a stunned look.

" _Never_ had a wand? How old are you, my child?"

"I'm sixteen sir. Just recently."

"How can this be? But wait—that _name_ —Glapion!" He dropped the boxes he was holding onto the counter and moved up a frightfully rickety looking staircase. Épiphanie looked on, studiously following her father, who stepped back to avoid the dust raining from loft above as they listened to the old man moving about over their heads. "Yes! Yes!" he exclaimed, returning several minutes later with an antique-looking wooden case held gingerly in his hands. "The Ollivanders have been making wands for centuries you know. I remember every wand that I have ever sold. My father and grandfather did too, sharing the secrets of wandlore and tales of the feats accomplished by those who wielded their creations." He placed the box on the counter reverently. "It seems to me, that I recall my grandfather telling of a wand he made for a witch of exceptional beauty and fearsome power, who lived in the Vieux Carre district of La Nouvelle Orleans."

Épiphanie's breath hitched in her throat and she nervously anticipated his next words.

"The wand came to him in a dream. Alas, when he presented it to her, she refused. Stating that she had never held a wand, and never would." He opened the box to reveal a slender wand, which on closer inspection resembled two serpents entwined about the shaft, their heads safeguarding a heart. Épiphanie let out a quiet gasp. She knew that vévé like she knew her own name. "Fourteen inches…Ebony…highly suited to all manner of combative magic and happiest in the hand of those who are highly individual and comfortable with the status of outsider…beautifully crafted with the hair of a thestral tail at its core. Serpents entwined about a rod—the caduceus—symbol of wisdom, cunning and skill, power!"

The old man gazed respectfully at the wand lying on the green silk pillow and Épiphanie felt compelled to reach out and take the jet black wand into hand. The moment her fingers closed around the wand, a warm buzz filled her entire body and her pulse quickened. The thousands of boxes in the shop began to vibrate with the rhythm of her pulse, until she closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

"A tricky core, thestral tail…wands containing this substance cannot be mastered simply by winning them. The wand chooses the witch, my child. I have only known two other wizards powerful enough to master a wand with such a core. One of them defeated the darkest wizard in modern history." He gave Kingsley a knowing look and turned his gaze to Épiphanie when he spoke next. "I daresay that yours is a name destined to be remembered!"

Épiphanie thought that her father wore a pensive expression when they left Ollivander's and she paused to look up at him. He smiled at her and offered her his arm. "Let's get you fitted for your uniforms, shall we?"

"Lead the way!"

Draco departed Madam Malkin's shop and headed across the Alley to Eeylops Owl Emporium. He picked up several boxes of Premium Owl Treats and browsed the wide-ranging assortment of travel cages, considering whether to purchase one for his beloved Eurasian eagle owl, Wei-Wei. Seeing nothing that piqued his interest in cages, he moved over to a display of perches and selected one crafted of wrought iron with a filigree base. He arranged to have it delivered to the Hall and decided to give the cages a second look before he continued on to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Épiphanie stood on a raised platform while Madam Malkin waved her wand, directing a tape measure around the girl's body.

"Goodness, so well-proportioned and beautiful, Minister!" the seamstress cooed. "I should be so fortunate to have such a model in my window! Now then, let's see…" she cast her wand at a shelf that contained several bolts of grey wool fabric, transfiguring them into a number of pleated skirts. White cotton was transformed into crisp oxford shirts. "Why don't you take these into the dressing area, my dear and see how they fit, then we can make any necessary alterations."

An hour later, they emerged from the shop with a promise that the uniforms and robes, along with a stylish black winter cloak of wool brocade and trimmed in embroidered velvet, would be delivered well ahead of her departure for school, and headed north to Eeylops Owl Emporium. As with their last two destinations, the Minister of Magic and his daughter were greeted with effusive deference. Épiphanie was shown an assortment of owls and given enough information about each of the species to make her head swim. She wandered the shop for a while, until she came upon an impressive owl perched high in the rafters apart from the others. Its facial disc was plain pale tawny, with a rim made up of fine blackish spots and deep orange eyes that reminded Épiphanie of a sunset.

"Ah, yes! Magnificent isn't she? A little bit smaller than the Eurasian, but no less beautiful, no? We don't get many of these Pharaoh Eagle Owls in England, but some have been bred to acclimate quite well. This one is just in from Eritrea last night! What say you, Minister?" the shop owner opened the cage and the owl alighted on Épiphanie's shoulder, its strong talons gripping with only the slightest pressure.

"Well, it appears that they have chosen one another!" Kingsley withdrew his purse from his robes and followed the shopkeeper to the counter while Épiphanie selected a cage.

Draco was glad to have brought along his rucksack with the undetectable extension charm as he stowed his new Firebolt and broomstick servicing kit as he headed into Flourish and Blotts to order his textbooks.

Kingsley made arrangements to pick up the new owl on their way home and they crossed the street to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Épiphanie was practically skipping as they entered the broom shop. Kingsley grimaced in her wake.

"Épiphanie, purchasing a broom is rather like purchasing a car. You must exercise responsibility. Recklessness may result in serious injury or even death. Since you are a sixth year, you are allowed a broom, but I expect you to take your tuition with Madame Hooch seriously and heed all of the rules of safety." He struck the first truly 'fatherly' tone that Épiphanie had heard him use since they met and she pursed her lips to keep from laughing—not because she didn't take him seriously, but because she was surprised and touched. She nodded, promising to behave accordingly, and listened attentively as the shopkeeper personally explained the characteristics of their newest line of brooms.

Draco paused briefly on the street as he made his way up the street from Flourish and Blotts to the apothecary. He sniffed once, twice—inhaling deeply. There was something deeply familiar about that scent—vanilla and cocoa with a hint of tobacco. He turned, scanning the crowds. Seeing no one of particular significance, he continued to Slug and Jiggers for powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills, and powdered unicorn horn before apparating back to Antares Hall.

Kingsley ultimately determined that the TurboXXX would be a suitable match for his precocious teen. "Somehow, I have a feeling that she will be perfectly able to handle such a broom," he said when the shopkeeper tried to recommend a more practical broom such as a Cleansweep Eleven, and arranged delivery along with a broomstick servicing kit.

They departed the retailer and continued their off-to-school shopping excursion before eventually meeting the rest of the group for drinks and taking the floo to their respective homes after agreeing to meet at King's Cross station on the first of September.


	13. August 31, 1998: Anticipation

**_August 31, 1998: Anticipation_**

 ****Draco lounged in the deep bathtub, a focal point in the luxurious master bath. His school shopping completed, he'd hired a car and ventured into the city where he found an exclusive muggle clothier, and also discovered that he could purchase a shelf stereo that could fill a room with music, thereby not requiring him to perform a sonorous charm on his portable stereo. He chuckled, remembering the salesclerk's expression when he said that he would take three—one for the drawing room, one for his study, and another for his bedroom. Of course, when the gentleman took down the exclusive address where the items were to be delivered, his demeanor changed to one of obsequiousness. He eagerly steered Draco to the large screen televisions that were for sale. While he was impressed by the moving images that apparently acted out stories, and reported muggle news, Draco demurred. He would have little time to enjoy a television, but assured the man that he would consider the purchase in the future.

By mid-week, Draco was pleased to learn that his request for a floo connection had been granted, and his first trip was a return to the Leaky Cauldron, a decision he briefly regretted when several patrons gaped at him with stunned expressions. He realized quickly enough that they had initially thought him to be Lucius. His white-blond hair now fell to his shoulders and even he found himself startled when he looked into the mirror. He had considered cutting it, but then remembered how Épiphanie remarked on how much she'd admired it. He often found himself imagining her delicate brown fingers twined among his locks. He squared his shoulders with his characteristic cool indifference and strode through the pub, exiting on Charing Cross road.

"Hello, again!" the young clerk smiled when he entered the bookshop. "It's good to see you again. You look rested. Been on holiday?"

"As a matter of fact I have been abroad." He returned her smile genially.

"Brilliant! It seems to have done wonders for you!" she exclaimed, her eyes roaming over his top notch twelve-wale navy corduroy trousers and charcoal grey, made-to-measure shirt.

"In more ways than one," he replied.

"So what brings you in today, sir? Is there anything I might help you to find?"

"Actually no. I only came to thank you."

"Thank, me? Whatever for?"

"Well, I was having a rather bad day when I first came in here—a bad _year_ actually."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. However, there was a travel display, just there." He pointed to a display behind her that now advertised cookbooks. When the girl turned, he surreptitiously conjured a rose, holding it behind his back. "It inspired me to go abroad. I've had something of a sheltered upbringing, so going abroad was far beyond my comfort zone, but with the help you gave me in preparing for my holiday, I managed to discover an amazing new world with time for introspection that I daresay has had a major impact."

"Amazing!" the girl said. Draco offered her the rose with a kiss on her hand then turned and left the shop, the girl staring after him in disbelief.

Draco allowed a slight smile to curve his lips at the memory, then his thoughts turned wistful. He had not yet heard back from Épiphanie, and wondered if he'd improperly posted his letter. He also continued to think about her assertion that her father might be a wizard. He hadn't made much progress on that front. Birth records could only be obtained from the Ministry, and anyway, Épiphanie was born in America. He didn't have the faintest idea how to go about searching muggle records in another country. Perhaps if he could make amends with Granger, she would be inclined to help him in his task—she did always seem to know _everything._

Épiphanie pushed her potatoes around on her plate as she sat at the dinner table with her father.

"Is there something wrong with your meal?" Kingsley asked setting down his wine.

"Oh, no, sir. It's very good. I guess I'm just nervous, maybe?" She shrugged.

"Ah. Well, that's to be expected. You've had a number of new experiences in a short amount of time. I remember the night before my first year at Hogwarts. I was filled with nervous excitement."

"Hmph!" snorted the handsome woman in the painting above the sideboard. "As I recall you lost your dinner!"

"Really, mother!" Kingsley frowned at the portrait. Épiphanie laughed.

"My child! Do not be vexed. It is only natural to be nervous before departing for school. In my first year, I was certain that I would fall from the boat as we crossed the lake and be slaughtered by the merpeople!"

"Merpeople? Like _real_ merpeople, as in Ariel and King Neptune? Merpeople?"

"Who exactly is Ariel?" the elder Mrs. Shacklebolt asked.

"I believe she refers to a muggle children's film, mother. It is based upon _Den Lille Havfrue._ " You know the story.

"Ah, yes, of course."

"Épiphanie," Kingsley reached out and covered her hand with his. "You have already proven to be a singularly gifted witch. You are poised, intelligent and are possessed of skill the likes of which I have observed in only the most powerful of wizards, one of whom you are fortunate to count among your colleagues. I expect you to be diligent in your studies, but remember to take the time to make friends and explore all of the wonderful things that magic has to offer. Professor Dumbledore used to say _Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress adventure._ I'm happy to know that the adventures ahead of you are nothing of the type that Harry, Hermione, Ron and the students who came before you had to face, but there will be adventures nonetheless. I am sure of it. By the time you are home for Yule, you will feel this place is just a wrinkle in time and long to return to the place that truly holds your heart."

Épiphanie reflected on her father's words as she sank into the warm bubbles of her bathtub later that night. She had felt buoyed a little after his pep talk, but she was still restive. She wished again that she had been able to get in contact with Draco. He'd mentioned returning to school, but seemed a bit vague on that point. She hoped that she might have had the opportunity to see him and imagined the look of surprise on his face when he did—unless of course he'd seen one of the ridiculous number of publications that featured her picture—then he'd already know. But if he did know, then surely he would know how to contact her, wouldn't he? She wondered if owls could locate wizards without knowing the property address. Well, at this point it didn't matter. She was leaving for school tomorrow and her beautiful new owl—she'd named her Hatshepsut—would not have time to deliver a letter before then.


	14. Color of a Brisk & Leaping Day

**_September 1, 1998: Color of a Brisk & Leaping Day_**

"Is it _really_ true that you've moved out of Malfoy Manor?" asked Pansy Parkinson as she edged closer to Draco, tugging at the ribbon that held his hair in a ponytail. He slapped at her hands and moved away from her, practically pressing himself into the corner and pointedly flipping the page of the book he'd been attempting unsuccessfully to concentrate upon since she flounced into the train compartment followed by Blaise Zabini. Perhaps the term _flounced_ might have been an overstatement, he thought as he regarded the girl now. She'd never been particularly attractive, but they'd been friends based upon social traditions in the first place. They'd only become lovers because she'd been easy to tempt—and quite skilled at relieving certain physical needs. Now, it appeared her pug face had grown rather plump, and her curvy figure appeared to have expanded somewhat.

"My god, you've gotten fat," he mumbled. She pursed her lips, but didn't give him much more space.

"Although I am _personally_ affronted that you've yet to invite us around for a banquet, I must confess to being jealous." Blaise studied his nails as he spoke. "Mother has refused to release my birthright until I turn twenty-five."

"Are you sure there's an endowment for you at all, Zabini? I hear that her most recent late husband's vault was seized after certain artefacts were found to be counterfeit. That would leave her rather wanting would it not?" Draco replied. He gazed out of the window at the passing scenery.

Blaise dismissed his churlish remark. "So, where exactly is your new domicile. I certainly hope the address is respectable."

"I can assure you that it is." Draco opened his book once more, but he was startled and dropped the book when he felt Pansy's hand on his leg, sliding up his thigh with purpose. Draco leapt from his seat and snatched up the book, checking to be sure that Épiphanie's photo had not fallen out.

"Since when did you become so bookish and shy, Draco?" She retrieved the ribbon that had fallen from his hair and tied it around her wrist. "Father was rather insulted that you did not attend the banquet, but I'm willing to forgive you." Pansy pulled him back onto the bench and moved in close once more. Draco extricated himself from her grasp and scowled at the girl in disgust.

"Really, Pansy! Show a little decorum!" Draco tossed his hair over his shoulder and snatched open the door of the compartment. "I need some air!"

"So, Épiphanie what did you name your owl?" asked Ginny. She tucked her feet underneath her on the seat and leaned into Harry's shoulder.

"Hatshepsut," Epiphanie replied.

"Oh, like the ancient queen? We learned all about her on our holiday in Egypt. Do you remember, Ron?" She looked at her brother, who absently nodded, his attention focused on an article in _Which Broomstick_ magazine.

"She really is a magnificent bird!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Thanks," Épiphanie replied. "Don't you have an owl?" she asked.

"I've considered purchasing one, especially since my personal correspondence has increased sevenfold since the war."

"So, you're like famous, huh?"

"Well, we have certainly achieved some degree of recognition, nothing on the scale of Harry. He's been famous—and sometimes infamous—his entire life."

"Don't remind me." Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course, I'm rather grateful that you're here now, Épiphanie. Everyone is so interested in The Minister's Daughter, they've quite forgotten about The Boy Who Lived!" he gave her a genuine smile and pointed to the girl's picture on the front page of the Witch Weekly magazine with the caption, _Minister's Daughter Named Among 50 Young Witches to Watch!_

Épiphanie blushed. "I'm sure Hermione should have been on the cover. She's number one on the list."

"No, thank you!" Hermione stated emphatically. "It's creepy seeing your face everywhere you turn!"

"Tell me about it!" Épiphanie concurred.

They could hear the trolley witch calling out as she made her way down the corridor.

"Oh, good, she's coming!" Ron exclaimed, finally putting down his magazine and fishing in the pockets of his robe for money. The others in the group began moving about the compartment and retrieving their own money.

"Oh, you _can't_ be serious!" Ginny declared suddenly, looking through the window of the compartment. "Do you see his _hair?_ " Hermione turned to see what had caught Ginny's attention and gasped.

"What?" Harry and Ron looked up.

"The _ferret_ is back!"

Harry and Ron gaped at the figure standing at the trolley outside their compartment.

"He looks like bloody _Lucius!"_ Ron muttered. "Slimy git!"

"Who?" Épiphanie, who had been looking for her mislaid purse finally turned around and was stunned. "Draco?" she whispered.

"Wait—how do you know—" Harry began, but she ignored him, throwing open the door of the compartment.

Draco whirled around at the sound of the compartment door opening behind him and fell against the trolley, nearly upsetting it as he stared dumbfounded at the girl standing before him.

"Draco!" she exclaimed.

"Épiphanie? It's really you!" He threw his arms around her. "What? How? I don't believe it!"

She returned his embrace and they both began to speak at once, barely giving the other a chance to respond. "It's a long story," she laughed, returning his embrace. "You were right, my father _is_ a wizard."

"I can't believe you're going to Hogwarts!"

"Neither can I! I wanted to write, but I didn't know how to reach you!"

"I sent a letter to you by muggle post, but I never heard back."

"My father showed up not long after you left, and I came back to England with him last week. Maybe we missed each other. I'm so excited to see you!"

" _Bloody Hell!_ " Ron's exclamation broke into their conversation.

They turned to the astonished group standing in the compartment.

"So, let me get this straight," said Ron. "You decide to go on holiday in America, and rent a room from a _muggle?_ " he asked incredulously, after Épiphanie recounted how they met. Draco was thankful that she left out his suicide fantasy.

"Boggles the mind, doesn't it?" Draco replied. His leg touched Épiphanie's and he felt a tingle as he sat as close to her as he dared, still reeling from the fact that she was actually on the Hogwarts Express with him, heading to school.

"But how did you discover she was a witch and he was a wizard?" Hermione asked.

"Well, we sort of found ourselves in a bit of trouble near the river."

"And she side-along apparated us out of there."

"After which, he thanked me by drawing his wand and trying to hex me!"

"To which she responded with a _brilliant_ non-verbal _and_ wandless defensive spell!" Draco looked at her with admiration.

Harry stared at Draco and Épiphanie in disbelief. _Were they flirting?_

"So, it was Malfoy who revealed that you were a witch?" Ron asked.

"We-ell, indirectly. It's a long story. I knew that I had powers and how to use them. I just didn't exactly know that I was a witch. I certainly was unaware that there were lots of magical people out there in the world."

"But when Kingsley told you that we were wizards, you looked as if you might faint," said Harry.

"Wait, _you_ were in New Orleans, Potter? With Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

" _And_ Professor McGonagall. They came with my father to meet me. But, Harry, it wasn't that I was a witch that had me so freaked out. Draco had told me all about Hogwarts, and the war, and even you, and all of a sudden there you were telling me that my father was also a wizard! I was trippin'!"

"You mean Potter, McGonagall, _and_ Kingsley—the Minister of Magic— _all_ traveled to America just to introduce you to your father? Just who _is_ he?" Draco asked. Ron snorted. Ginny and Harry snickered.

"Do try to keep up, Malfoy." Hermione pursed her lips. "Haven't you read a single magazine or paper in the last week? What _have_ you been up to?" She tossed the _Witch Weekly_ at him. Draco caught the periodical and was startled to find Épiphanie's face smiling up at him. His jaw dropped when he read the caption.

" _Bloody hell!"_ he murmured. "The Minister of Magic? He's your father?" Épiphanie nodded. Draco sank back and his face paled. "Does he know that you know me?"

"Never came up." She shrugged.

"Oh, I can see the headline now: _Minister's Daughter Befriends Former Death Eater!"_ Ron sniggered.

"Ron!" Hermione poked him. "I think the Minister will approach the situation diplomatically. He wouldn't risk damaging his fledgling relationship with Épiphanie just to spite Malfoy."

"That may be true, but what would Lucius say?" Harry pointed out.

"Lucius no longer has a say in how I conduct my affairs or my relationships. I am of age and have come into my birthright. I no longer reside at Malfoy Manor," Draco replied crisply. "It was quite fortuitous, really. I must say, I rather have you to thank for that." He gave Épiphanie's hand a squeeze.

"Me?"

"Well, I finished the first book you gave me. It _did_ put a great number of things in perspective for me," he replied. Épiphanie gave his hand a squeeze.

The group lapsed into quiet introspection for several minutes. Draco stared at his finely manicured nails, before balling them into fists and rising to his feet.

"Potter, I—I owe you a sincere apology. I—honestly, I owe you my life—twofold. You probably won't believe this, but I would like to start this year with peace between us." He extended his hand. All eyes were on Harry in anticipation of his response. Harry stood and gave Draco an appraising stare, green eyes meeting grey. After several tense seconds, he reached out and clasped the blond's hand.

"A gentlemen's agreement, Malfoy. If you're willing to work on peace, I'm all in."

They shook hands and Draco turned to Hermione. "Hermione, I've been learning quite a lot about the muggle world. Things I never knew and never could have imagined. The errors of thinking that I had developed are so vast. I learned that far too late. Words cannot begin to express the depths of my guilt for the way I have treated you. I can only strive to earn your respect, and I hope that you will accept my apology."

Hermione looked at Draco curiously. "I think that's the first time you've ever said my name," she said.

"I—oh. Yes, erm—"

"Amazing! Draco Malfoy is _actually_ speechless!" Ron proclaimed.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and turned her gaze to Draco, regarding him momentarily before she spoke, giving him a deliberate nod. "We'll see, Draco. We'll see.

The sky had grown dark and prefects were making their final patrols and giving instructions to the first years in preparation for their arrival in Hogsmeade.

"I should go." Draco pulled open the compartment door and stepped out into the corridor.

"Draco!" Épiphanie called after him. "You forgot your book." She pressed the paperback into his hands. His fingers brushed hers and he let them linger, staring into her dark eyes.

 _I'm glad you're here_

 _I'm glad I came._

The train chugged to a stop at Hogsmeade and there was a flurry of activity as the prefects corralled the first years and the older students clambered to share carriages with their friends. The usual jovial mood that accompanied the journey became subdued as many students laid eyes on the thestrals for the first time.

Épiphanie stood on the platform uncertainly when Hagrid called out for the first year students.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Is everything alright, Épiphanie?" she asked.

"Well, I'm not sure. Am I supposed to go with Shaq over there?" she pointed to the half-giant with the large lantern.

"Shaq? Oh, you mean Hagrid!"

At the mention of his name, the large man turned and a smile broke out among his thick beard.

"Helloo, Hermione! Great ter see ya back for seventh year!" He patted her shoulder, and the girl's knees buckled a bit.

"Hagrid, this is Epiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt."

"The Minister's daughter! My! Yer even more beautiful than yer picture! Welcome to Hogwarts, milady! I'm Professor Rubeus Hagrid!" He gave a low bow.

"I'm pleased to meet you, sir." Épiphanie said, slightly taken aback.

"There's a special carriage for you. Just this way!" He led her to a silver carriage at the end of the path. A house elf stood as a footman and held the door open. Épiphanie stared at the thestral in wonder and reached out a hand to touch its skeletal form.

"No need ter be afraid. They're really quite gentle," said Hagrid said.

"I'm not afraid," she whispered.

The first carriages began to move off toward the castle and Épiphanie accepted Hagrid's hand into the private carriage before he returned to usher the first years to the boats. Draco watched the scene from his seat in the last carriage. He wondered whose death Épiphanie had witnessed.


	15. Debating the Sorting Hat

**_Debating the Sorting Hat_**

** _NOTE: Professor McGonagall's start of term speech is partially excerpted from 365 and a quarter days of Harry Potter (WordPress). The Sorting Hat's song is quoted from the 2017 sorting (Harry Potter Wiki)._

When she alighted the carriage in front of the castle, Épiphanie was met by a tiny man with fluffy white hair and a squeaky voice who introduced himself as Professor Flitwick, Charms instructor and Deputy Headmaster. He led her to the Entrance Hall where the first years were lining up.

"Now then, dear, as this is a most unusual circumstance, you'll wait here. The first years will enter and be sorted into their houses. Once that is done, Headmistress McGonagall will introduce you and you will have an opportunity to be sorted into your house." He winked at her conspiratorially. "I shall endeavor to be impartial, but I must say I would be most pleased to have such a lovely young lady in Ravenclaw house!" he squeaked. Épiphanie smiled down at him.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and Épiphanie got a glimpse of the long tables below hundreds of floating candles and a ceiling that appeared to be the night sky. The nervous first year students filed in and assembled at the front, below the staff table. A ragged looking pointed hat sat upon a wooden stool in front of a gilded podium. When all of the students were lined up, the hat began to sing.

 _I've done this job for centuries  
On every student's head I've sat  
Of thoughts I take inventories  
For I'm the famous Sorting Hat._

 _I've sorted high, I've sorted low,_  
 _I've done the job through thick and thin_  
 _So put me on and you will know_  
 _Which house you should be in..._

The doors of the Great Hall swung closed as Hagrid lifted the hat and called out the first student's name. It was then that she heard the murmuring. Épiphanie turned and looked around. Several of the portraits were talking. Some moved from frame to frame and pointed down at her.

"It's true! She's the Minister's daughter! ...Such a beautiful lady! ...I wonder what house she'll be in…Surely it will be Ravenclaw! I hear she's incredibly gifted! ...No! Gryffindor! ...Did you hear that her wand was crafted by Gerbold Ollivander?"

Inside the Great Hall, the last student, Andre Zirbel was sorted into Hufflepuff and took a seat with his house as Professor McGonagall stepped up to the podium.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, as I am sure many of you are aware; the Minister of Magic's daughter has arrived in England and has been admitted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is an exceptional circumstance, but be assured that deference will not be shown to any student. Exceptional performance will earn your house points, and any infraction will lose points for your house. This applies to every student." She paused to let her words sink in. "Although she is officially a N.E.W.T. level student, her house has yet to be determined. Therefore, our sorting hat is asked to please perform this last task."

The pointed tip of the sorting hat dipped as if in assent.

"Thank you. Miss Épiphanie Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt!"

Épiphanie was so lost in watching the portraits as they pointed, whispered and waved that she didn't hear the doors of the Great Hall opening once more and the Headmistress announcing her name.

"Come along, dear!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. Épiphanie spun around, and he gestured to the open door. She smoothed the front of her robes and fingered the long braid resting on her shoulder before squaring her shoulders and marching into the Hall.

A hush fell over the room, and Épiphanie could feel every eye in the place on her as she strode deliberately up the center aisle. She stopped in front of the head table, turning her feet into ballet third position and lacing her fingers in front of her. Professor McGonagall approached the wooden stool and lifted the hat.

"Please take a seat," the headmistress instructed. Épiphanie stepped up and perched gracefully upon the stool. She looked out over the mass of students, but registered no faces. She didn't search out her new friends, but focused inward on the current event taking place. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head.

"Ah, the Minister's daughter! Her singular beauty has been proclaimed far and wide! She would do any house proud to have her! But which will serve such a talent?"

 _Are you asking me?_

 _Am I?_

 _Well, as you have been at this for centuries, I shall trust your judgement_

 _Ah, a wise and thoughtful response, much like a Ravenclaw._

 _Is that so?_

 _She is an individual unafraid of being an outsider, ever the Hufflepuff, but highly skilled in combat—the brave heart of a Gryffindor._

Épiphanie was vaguely aware that a quiet murmur was spreading over the massive hall as an atmosphere of anticipation began to escalate.

 _Yeah, well, does everybody have this conversation with you? It seems rather time consuming, don't you think?_

 _No need to be impertinent, now!_

 _Shall we get on with it then? I'm pretty sure that my resume isn't that long._

 _Not to be underestimated, she holds the Caduceus wand, made for and refused by her ancestor, the witch who ruled a city! Just as cunning is her descendant, moving easily between our worlds—muggle and magical—and a trickster to her own benefit. There lurks the heart of a girl with closely guarded secrets. We have yet to learn how powerful the young witch truly is!_

The hat went still, and Épiphanie realized that the murmuring in the hall had ceased, as every person waited with bated breath for the Sorting Hat's pronouncement.

"Slytherin!" the hat called out at last.

There was a collective gasp throughout the room. Even the Slytherin students sat in stunned silence for several seconds before erupting into applause. When Professor McGonagall lifted the hat from her head, her lips set in a thin line, Épiphanie smoothed out her hair and tripped lightly down to the Slytherin table. Her eyes immediately landed on Draco's white-blond hair and she saw him break out into a wide smile. She took a seat across from him, beside a tall, thin boy with brown hair and a rabbitty appearance. She didn't notice him giving her an appraising look as she listened to the Headmistress's welcoming speech.

"Welcome new students. To our returning students, we are honoured that you have chosen to return. In the interest of time, all important announcements will be given by your head of house and posted in your common rooms. I shall therefore endeavor to make my statement brief. To our first years, you sit in the presence of veterans who fought and fell to defend the integrity of the wizarding world. In these halls, you will learn from those who will quench your thirst for knowledge and will encourage your curiosity of the unknown. You will make friends who are loyal, who will encourage you to be yourself in spite of what others may think of you. In these halls you will make some mistakes, but you will learn to face your fears, fight off demons on your own, and stand up for what you believe in. There is prejudice all around, but if you remember that everyone has feelings and never lose sight of the future that you want, anything can happen. You are the first of a new era at Hogwarts. You sit on hallowed ground and walk with spirits who know what it is to be loyal in every moment and believe that even in the darkest of times there is love, light and hope." She paused a moment as the students silently reflected on her statements. "And now, without further ado, let the feast commence!"

The tables filled with food and the students began to eat heartily, grateful for the meal after an exceptionally long day.

"Thank Merlin this is the _last_ time I shall have to listen to that ridiculous hat's insipid song!" Blaise declared. "If it weren't a proviso of my birthright, I should not have returned to this godforsaken highland at all," groused the dark skinned boy with high cheekbones and long slanting eyes who sat to Draco's left.

"Surely it can't be as bad as all that," Épiphanie remarked.

"And I suppose we should be honored to have the Minister's daughter in our house?" Pansy drawled, turning up her pug nose as she loaded her plate with steak and kidney pie.

 _Merlin, Draco! Flirting with_ her? _What could anyone possibly see in an illegitimate half-blood from America?_

"Well, I _do_ know how to keep my robes closed." Épiphanie sucked in her jaw and cut her eyes at Pansy, bringing a glass of pumpkin juice to her lips. Draco gave a snort and nearly choked on his own juice, snatching up his napkin to prevent it from dribbling down his chin.

"Well now, perhaps she has some Slytherin in her after all." The thin, brown-haired boy who she learned was called Theodore Nott chuckled.

"At least my wand matches the décor," Épiphanie shrugged.

"Really? Let's see it then," Draco pushed aside a platter of potatoes and Épiphanie withdrew the serpent wand from within her robe and placed it on the table. He gasped audibly, recognizing the vévé. "That's it, isn't it?"

"Apparently so." Épiphanie's smile held just a hint of pride.

"And it was really made by Gerbold Ollivander?" he asked. She nodded.

"That's what Mr. Ollivander said."

Pansy reached out to touch the wand, but it leapt out of her reach and into Épiphanie's hand. She tucked it into her robes once more, giving the pug-faced girl an exasperated look.

"Why on earth would you get a wand from Ollivander? Are American wands that inferior?" Blaise commented disdainfully.

"Stand down, Blaise," Draco warned, sipping his juice. "I can assure you, this is not a witch you want to offend."

"Somehow, I'm hardly surprised to learn that you would have already ingratiated yourself to the Minister's daughter. Ever the Malfoy," Nott drawled.

"Perhaps you don't know Draco as well as you think." She leaned close and spoke into his ear. "It would be unwise to underestimate me, Theodore. By the way, how are those sausages?"

 _Vermiculus_

The sausages on Nott's plate transformed into a mass of tiny worms and all of the students in the vicinity leapt back. Nott let out a horrified shriek and Pansy gagged, looking visibly ill. The main dishes were replaced by desserts, but few retained their appetite. Nott stormed angrily from the Great Hall brushing his robes as if to be sure none of the creatures had landed on him. Pansy ran past him with her hand over her mouth.

The banquet ended presently, with the prefects directing the first years to their respective houses.

"You understand that Nott is even now fervently plotting his revenge. Pansy may well be too," Draco informed her as they entered the Entrance Hall.

"Can't wait!" she giggled sarcastically.

"Épiphanie!"

They turned and saw Hermione and Ron running to catch up with them.

"Slytherin! Whoever would have guessed!" Ron exclaimed.

"Do you realize that was the first true hatstall since that _rat,_ Pettigrew?" Hermione declared.

"What's a hatstall?" Épiphanie asked.

"Students whose sorting takes longer than five minutes because their personality is considered equally suited to different houses. Professor McGonagall's sorting took five and half minutes!"

"Really?"

"I wonder what other house it considered for you," Hermione mused.

"Apparently all of them," replied Épiphanie.

"I must admit, I never thought you would be placed in Slytherin, myself," said Draco. "The entire house was flabbergasted."

"Old McGonagall looked like she might faint!" Ron declared. Épiphanie shrugged.

"After what she just did to Nott, I can assure you she has cemented her place in the _correct_ house," remarked Draco.

"What was that all about anyway?" asked Ron.

"Oh, apparently Mr. Nott has an aversion to worms—or is it sausages?" Épiphanie grinned wickedly.

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed.

"House meeting in ten minutes, Gryffindors!" A tall, thin man with long red hair and a handsome face, despite being marred by deep scars, strode out of the Great Hall and approached them. Épiphanie looked from him to Ron and back again. Ron let out a long-suffering groan.

"Épiphanie this is _Professor_ Bill Weasley, Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor and head of Gryffindor House," Ron said. Hermione poked him in the ribs. "He's also my brother." Draco suppressed a grin.

"The pleasure is all mine, Épiphanie. I look forward to seeing you in class."

"Pleased to meet you, professor." She smiled.

"Ron, Hermione. We should head up. You only have eight minutes now."

"And Harry thinks you're cool!" Ron muttered as Hermione dragged him away.

"Well, best get some rest. Classes begin tomorrow." He smiled genially at Draco and Épiphanie. Draco suppressed a scowl.

"Shall we?"

"Please. Good night, Professor."

Draco led her in the direction of the dungeons.


	16. L'Art de L'Amour

**_L'Art de L'Amour_**

 _**Epiphanie quotes Ovid—Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love) and Romeo and Juliet (Act I, Scene 5)_

"I still can't believe that you're really here." Draco brushed his hand against hers and Épiphanie entwined her fingers in his as they casually strolled along the cool, damp dungeon corridor towards the Slytherin common room.

"It really is amazing."

"I truly missed you, Épiphanie."

"Did you?"

"I was certain you'd be sorted into Gryffindor."

"Why's that?" she asked.

"Well, most of the time students wind up in the houses that their parents are loyal to."

"So my father is—was a Gryffindor?" she asked.

"You didn't know?"

"We never discussed it."

"Oh."

"What you did on the train…I think it was a good thing." She stopped and turned to him.

"I'm not sure they thought I was sincere. I can't blame them though. I told you—I was downright horrid to Hermione. Potter, I think I was just jealous of. Lucius told me before first year, that I should get to know him and become friends. That didn't quite work out. Then he was placed in Gryffindor. There was the Chamber of Secrets and the Triwizard Tournament. He was a hero at every turn and I was a right prat. The whole thing was a mess and a waste. I really do owe him my life. Even when the war was over, he kept my entire family out of Azkaban."

"Draco, if you want things to change, you have to be the change you want to see in the world. It's not always comfortable, and it's not always easy, but if it's worth having, we endure. The idea isn't to pay Harry back, or Hermione. It's to pay it _forward._ "

"You really are remarkable." He moved closer to her.

"No I'm not."

"I think you are." Draco backed her into a shadowed alcove. "You make me think and feel things as never before." He stroked her cheek and touched his forehead to hers, looking deeply into her eyes. Draco could feel a stirring deep within himself, but he was torn. Épiphanie was no mere physical conquest. He wanted her—yes, but he wanted more. He wanted to be entwined with her very spirit. He gently framed her face with his hands and chanced to brush his lips against hers.

"I want to _know_ you," he whispered.

"Jupiter from above laughs at lovers' perjuries." She breathed. He could feel her heart pounding. She took his hands, entwining their fingers. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this, For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Let love enter cloaked in friendship's name."

Draco was about to press his petition once more, when he became aware of a movement in the corridor. He cursed audibly.

"Mrs. Norris! C'mon, we have to go!" Épiphanie looked curiously in the direction of his gaze and saw a scrawny, cat with dust-colored fur. She knelt down and held out her hand to the cat who hesitated before allowing the girl to take it up into her arms. Épiphanie scratched the cat's head between her ears.

"Bonjou, madame. You're a nosy little witch aren't you? I don't like being spied on." She hugged the cat close and whispered in a voice so that Draco could not hear. "When you see me about, it would be wise to go the other way." Épiphanie set the cat down once more. Mrs. Norris let out a hiss. "Chat!" Épiphanie snarled. The cat let out a yowl and scampered away.

"Did you just curse Filch's cat?" Draco asked uneasily.

"Maybe. Who's Filch?"


	17. Best In Class

**_Best In Class_**

Pansy and Nott kept their distance at breakfast the next morning. They were joined instead by Blaise Zabini and Graham Montague.

"Might we be able to enjoy our breakfast without the presence of maggots this morning?" asked Blaise as he tucked into a plate of eggs on toast.

"That is entirely up to you," Épiphanie replied, pointedly taking a bite of her sausage.

Professor Slughorn approached the group, handing out schedules.

"Double Potions first. Who with, Professor?" Draco asked.

"Gryffindor," the portly professor replied over his shoulder as he continued handing out schedules.

"Ugh!" Blaise groaned.

"Nothing satisfies you, does it?" Épiphanie asked.

"Certainly not half-blood Yanks." He gave her a scornful look.

"Like your daddy?" Épiphanie flippantly returned his gaze and lifted a glass of orange juice to her lips, sipping with languorous enjoyment. Blaise angrily sprang from his seat, leveling his wand at her.

"How _dare_ you!" he hissed.

Épiphanie laughed. "Chile please! I wish you would!" She folded her arms over her chest.

"Mister _Zabini!_ " Professor McGonagall's shrill voice echoed throughout the Hall, drawing the attention of everyone present. "Have you gone _mad? Ten points_ from Slytherin!" Blaise glared at Épiphanie and snatched up his class schedule, storming away from the table. "Miss Shacklebolt, my office please!" She turned to the Entrance without looking to see if Épiphanie followed. Draco gave her a sympathetic, but anxious look before she scurried after the headmistress.

Professor McGonagall said nothing as they made their way to the third floor corridor, stopping at a Stone Gargoyle.

"Dougal," the headmistress said, crisply. The Gargoyle leapt aside, revealing a moving spiral staircase. Épiphanie stepped on behind the professor and followed her into the office. Minerva waved her wand and the oaken double door closed behind them. "You may sit."

Épiphanie perched on the edge of a straight-backed velvet chair in front of the headmistress' desk. From the corner of her eye, she could see several portraits turn their attention to the two women. Her gaze briefly landed on two large portraits nearest the desk. In one sat a serene looking wizard with a long silvery beard and hair, and wearing half-moon spectacles on his crooked nose. In the other, there was a younger man who looked to be about her father's age, clad in black, with lank dark hair that hung to his shoulders and a rather prominent hook nose. His dark eyes looked upon her with deliberate curiosity.

Minerva took a seat and folded her hands on the desktop.

"Miss Shacklebolt, while I am aware that Blaise Zabini is an exceedingly arrogant and boorish young man, I have never before known him to be confrontational. Whatever occurred between the two of you to precipitate his behavior, I would strongly urge you not to antagonize your housemates. Slytherins are not generally known to be magnanimous—even with one another—and individual pride generally outstrips house loyalty in regards to interpersonal conflicts. I will not be as deferential as Professor Slughorn in administering correction simply because you are the Minister's daughter."

"Yes ma'am."

"Forgive me, Minerva. Am I to understand that this young woman is the daughter of Kingsley Shacklebolt and that she has been sorted into Slytherin?" asked the older wizard.

"Indeed, Albus. Miss Épiphanie Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt."

"Intriguing. And might I inquire as to what took place between Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt and Mr. Zabini that would necessitate such a lecture?" asked the dark haired man. Minerva nodded at Épiphanie.

"Well, sir. Blaise was complaining about having Potions with the Gryffindors, and I asked if he was ever satisfied by anything. To which he replied 'certainly not half-blood yanks' and I may have cast doubt as to his own ancestry. So, he drew his wand and pointed it at me."

"And did you accept the gauntlet?" the older man asked.

"If you're asking if I drew my wand, sir, no."

"That is most interesting!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed," the other portrait replied, thoughtfully rubbing his chin.

"Now then! About your schedule." The headmistress deftly changed the subject. Épiphanie looked for the first time at the parchment she had received. "You will note that you will receive private tuition in Herbology until such time as Professor Sprout believes whether you have the requisite skills to study at N.E.W.T. level. You will need to see her to arrange a meeting time."

"Yes ma'am."

"Madame Hooch will provide your flying instruction. You are strongly cautioned not to attempt to fly a broom before then."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good, she has indicated that you are to meet her for your first lesson on Saturday morning after breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am."

Minerva scribbled a note on a piece of parchment and passed it to Épiphanie. "Present this note to Professor Slughorn. Do you know the way?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Very well. You may go."

"Ah, Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt! Welcome! Welcome!" Professor Slughorn greeted Épiphanie enthusiastically as she entered the Potions classroom.

"I'm sorry, I'm late, sir. I have a note from the headmistress."

"Yes, yes, of course. No worry!" He took the note from her and patted her hand. "Now, let's see. You'll need a partner. It seems as though just about everyone—"

"I'm happy to be her partner, Professor." Draco volunteered shooing Millicent Bulstrode as she attempted to take a place beside him. She angrily joined Blaise at the next table. Épiphanie joined Draco, setting up her cauldron and placing her books on the table. "What happened with McGonagall?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just reviewing my schedule for tutoring. I'm good."

"Very good! Very good! Now we are all settled, let's begin by reviewing the uses for Shrinking Potion, shall we?" Professor Slughorn began. Hermione's hand shot into the air. Épiphanie raised her hand. "Ah, yes! Miss Glapion Shacklebolt."

"Acid green in color, and rather subtle at first taste, the shrinking solution causes the drinker to shrink to a younger form. It is highly toxic if improperly brewed."

"Very good! Five points to Slytherin. Now, you'll find the ingredients for the potion on the board. The student who brews a perfect potion will receive a bar of fine chocolate! Shall we begin?"

All of the students opened their copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and gathered their ingredients. Épiphanie carefully laid out her ingredients and also opened a well-worn leather journal, reading it, and began comparing notes. Draco looked over her shoulder.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Notes on a variation that I'm certain works better."

"Are you sure? You're the one who pointed out the potion's toxicity if it is not brewed properly."

"Trust me." She placed the journal on the table between them.

As the class wore on, more than a few people observed the excited whispering between the pale blond and the raven haired Slytherins, their heads bent close over their cauldrons and the grimoire.

"What are they looking at?" Hermione remarked, looking over her shoulder.

"No idea, but it's not the textbook," Harry replied, glancing back as he vigorously stirred his cauldron. "Wait, I don't recall the potion turning purple. Does it?"

"Purple? Their potion is purple? Wait, Ron! You have to stir it before adding the rat spleen!"

By the end of the lesson, more than a few students had been sickened by noxious green gases that were emitted from their potion when they added shrivelfig, and Pansy Parkinson left class early, looking fit to vomit, her potion incomplete. Professor Slughorn moved slowly from table to table, assessing the students' work in varying viscosities and shades of green from olive to teal. "Very good. That is a nice shade Miss Granger. Perhaps not quite acid, but most remarkable." When he reached Draco and Épiphanie's table, he peered into two cauldrons of shrinking potion in an identical shade of pristine acid green. "Oh, my! This is—well, extraordinary! I've never seen color this pure from a student brewer!" he exclaimed. The professor fed two small toads a dropper of each potion, and they immediately transformed into tadpoles.

"Excellent! These are both _superior_ potions!"

"Épiphanie suggested a few alterations that brought out the clarity," said Draco.

"Did she now?" the professor turned an inquiring eye to Épiphanie.

"Yes sir. Shaking the shrivelfig and adding them after four of the caterpillars, which should be _sliced_ instead of juiced, will eliminate the emission of gases. Also, we used _four_ rat spleens ahead of the daisy roots and leech juice, followed by just enough extra shrivelfig to make it turn pink. Furthermore, the flame temperature in the textbook is _far_ too high. It should be allowed to simmer after adding the last sliced caterpillar."

"Oh, ho! Well done, Miss Shacklebolt! Ten points to Slytherin, and you win the chocolate!"

Hermione's jaw dropped and Ron and Harry shared a look. They caught up with Épiphanie as she exited.

"How did you know to make those alterations?" Hermione demanded.

"Whoa, chill out, girl!" she showed them the journal. "I keep notes. Have done since I first started learning from Ma Mère. I've been making potions and oils for Maman since I was six. It's no big deal. I got straight As in chemistry last year."

"I guess not." Hermione said apologetically. "You _were_ able to expound on your scientific process to Slughorn's satisfaction. It was just—"

"She sounded like Professor Snape," Ginny suggested.

"Well, yes. Except—"

"Much more personable and fit," said Ron. Épiphanie grimaced and Hermione gave him a poke.

Friday evening, Draco sat in a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin Common Room engrossed in the second book that Épiphanie had given him. It was the story of a young man taken from the African country of Gambia when he was seventeen and sold as a slave — and seven generations of his descendants in the United States. The author had apparently been inspired to write the novel after hearing stories from his grandmother about the family's history as he grew up. He created the story by weaving dialogue and fictional incidents with his documented research into his lineage, even traveling to Africa to speak with local griots. Draco was so fascinated by the family's perseverance, in spite of the extreme prejudice and obstacles they faced, that he was startled when Theodore Nott dropped into the chair opposite him.

"Swotting already, Malfoy?"

"And what, Socrates, is the food of the soul? Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul." Draco turned a page without looking up.

"Is that a _muggle_ book?" Nott asked scornfully.

Draco marked his place and closed the book. "Is there something that I may do for you, Nott?"

"You should know, there's been talk."

"I should assume there is a reason you believe I would have an interest in idle house gossip."

"You're awfully cozy with the Minister's daughter."

"So what if I am?"

"Well, I must admit, she's quite fit, for a half-blood. But Malfoy, you know as well as anyone that she doesn't belong here. Yet here you are following her around like you've got your nose up her knickers!"

"Still smarting over being bested in potions? Or is it that she humiliated you at the feast? Whatever your point, I suggest you choose your next words _very carefully,_ Nott." Draco growled. "My wand hand is still much quicker than yours."

"People are questioning your loyalty."

"My loyalty? To _what_ Theodore? You do realize that the war is over, don't you?"

"Is that why you were seen with her in a train compartment with that mudblood, Granger and _Harry Potter?_ " Nott snarled. "You know, Lucius did mention that you'd run away from home like a little ponce. I came to warn you to be careful, but perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps it is _we_ who should be careful with you." Nott gave him a calculated stare before he walked away.

Draco sat by the fire for quite some time. The common room was surprisingly empty for a Friday evening. Most students had returned to their dormitories or wandered off to a secluded area of the castle for a private snog with someone special. He mulled over his conversation with Nott. Why was Lucius discussing him with the Slytherin—of course he'd likely been invited to the banquet that Draco had skivved to go off to America. This of course led him back to thoughts of Épiphanie. He opened his book and stared at the picture marking his last read page, tracing a finger over her smiling image.

"I wish that blissfulness be never ending. I wish to be swept up, spirits entwined. I wish to be caught up, bodies enmeshed. I wish for the fine mist of sweat. I wish to be drenched in the nectar of passion. I wish for the taste of love. I wish for the touch of gentleness. I wish for the touch of skin on skin. I wish for the touch of the curve against the hand. I wish to sleep in the warmth of ardor become exhaustion. I wish to be gazed upon with favor. I wish that thou behold me with favor. I shall wish for all time that these wishes come to fruition…" he whispered.

"What wishes?"

Draco snapped the book shut and looked up to see Épiphanie drape herself gracefully over the chair that Nott had recently inhabited, dropping her satchel onto the floor. She smiled at him, running her fingers through her long hair and expertly arranging it into a braid.

"I'm sorry?" he said. "I was a bit distracted." He held up the book.

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your reading. It is a good book, isn't it?" She opened her satchel and pulled out a pair of headphones.

"Oh, those won't work here. The magic interferes with the electronics. It's why there are no electric lights."

"Really?" She placed the headphones over his ears and pointed her wand at the device. Draco was suddenly assaulted by the velvety voice of a woman rapping in time with a funky beat in a call and response with her backup singers… _Desire…I know you want me…You're fine…thank you, but I'm not the type of girl that you think I am. I don't jump into the arms of every man…but I'm paid…I don't need your money…I love you…you must be mad…easy love is something that I ain't…besides I don't know you from a can of paint…_ Draco looked at Épiphanie in astonishment.

"How did you do it?"

"My Papa showed me. Our house is filled with electronics. It's a simple charm. Oh, and you have to take out the batteries."

"Brilliant! I wish I'd known." He passed the stereo back to her. "I'd have brought mine along. I bought one at the airport before I returned home. You'd be quite impressed with my collection of DCs!"

Épiphanie laughed. "It's CDs! Well, feel free to borrow mine; it's cool. That one is Queen Latifah. She's one of my favorites."

Draco lost himself in her smile and his eyes roamed the curves of her body as she sat with one long, slender leg arranged over the arm of the chair. The shimmering green glow of the windows mingled with the flickering light of the fireplace making her skin look like a dazzling, rare jewel. She slipped the headphones over her ears, opening her leather-bound journal, and began writing. He stared at the curious instrument in her hand. It appeared to be some sort of mechanical quill. It reminded him of a stylus, but had a metal tip that looked like the point of a quill and ink poured from the tip without the need for dipping. Feeling his eyes upon her, Épiphanie looked up.

"What?"

"Is that some sort of mechanical quill?" Draco asked, pointing curiously to the writing instrument.

"It's a fountain pen. I have several. We use them back home for the special inks we use in our voodoo rituals and spells. I'm glad I brought them along because I don't think I could tolerate the constant dipping of a quill. With these, I generally only have to fill the reservoir about twice a week."

"Really? That's brilliant! How does it work?" Draco asked.

"Here, I'll show you." She led him to a table and took out a bottle of ink and a silver pen with an engraved filigree design on the barrel and cap. "This one has a converter that works kind of like a piston." She uncapped the pen and unscrewed the barrel. Then she dipped the nib of the pen into the ink until it was entirely covered, twisting the piston counterclockwise at the top. "This forces air out of the cartridge." She said. After a few turns, she reversed direction and turned the piston in a clockwise position. Draco could see that the ink was now filling a clear tube. When the ink reached the top, Épiphanie raised the nib out of the ink and held it over the bottle. She turned the piston counterclockwise once more until a bead of ink flowed from the nib, and used a small scrap of cloth to blot the tip. She stoppered her ink and screwed on the barrel of the pen, passing it to Draco along with a scrap of parchment. "Go ahead."

Draco took the pen tentatively and began to write on the paper. He grinned like a child with a new toy. "Amazing! Where can I find a fountain pen?"

"Most upscale bookstores sell them. There are a few catalog retailers you can order from too. Personally, I'm surprised that they aren't available in the wizarding world. Fountain pens have been around for centuries. You can keep that one if you want. Just treat it with care. It's one of my favorites."

Draco grinned even wider. "Always, my love!"

"You're silly!" she laughed and returned to her studying.

Draco had retired by the time Épiphanie decided to head off to her dormitory. She paused at the table where he had been sitting and picked up the parchment he'd left behind. She picked it up and read the poem on the page.

There is something about you.

Could it be that magic called vaudou?

I lie down to dream and here comes you.

I open my eyes, but still I dream of you.

What is it about you?

What is that magic that you do?

Are you that wonder called vaudou?

It is said that magic runs through a black woman's veins.

I feel as if your magic is controlling my brain.

Thoughts of you are uncontrollable.

Why must I constantly crave your visual?

What do you do?

How do you weave that spell over me?

Whatever you do.

You hold me imperioused in a trance, my Nubian muse.

You-beautiful vaudou.


	18. Let's Give 'Em Something to Talk About

**_Let's Give 'Em Something to Talk About_**

Saturday morning dawned clear and somewhat crisp. After breakfast, Draco pulled on a pair of jeans and a comfortable cashmere jumper in emerald green. He tied a leather thong around his hair and grabbed his broomstick and kit before heading down to the quidditch pitch for a bit of exercise and training. He knew that the team had been significantly reduced as a result of the war, with Vaisey, and Blaise returning and Harper expressing that he'd be trying out for keeper rather than return to reserve seeker. Professor Slughorn had already approached Draco to become Captain, a designation that surprised Draco, as he was certain the Head of House was not particularly fond of him due to his stance during Voldemort's occupation.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, Mr. Malfoy, we must put aside our individual differences in the interest of returning the Quidditch Cup to her rightful home!" The portly potions master nodded and gave him a wink. Draco suspected the professor's choice was also persuaded by his recent superior classroom performance and relationship with the Minister's Daughter.

As he walked across the castle grounds, Draco questioned what exactly his relationship was with Épiphanie. He had no doubt that his feelings were more than lust. He looked forward to seeing her each day and sitting across the table at meals. He felt a warmth throughout his body whenever their hands made contact. Whenever his thoughts were unoccupied, her aspect met his mind's eye. Gone was the casual indifference that he had shown to his relationships with Daphne and Pansy. He worried what she thought of him and was conscientious that she should never see him unfavorably. He had never been in love before. Is this what it felt like?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, the pitch is closed." Madame Hooch informed him as he entered from the training rooms. She wore an agitated frown.

"What's going on, Madame?" he asked, looking around. Several wizards hovered on broomsticks around the towers of the pitch and a handful more were seated in the stands. Just then, Épiphanie emerged from the training rooms. She was dressed in skintight black leather pants, a white turtleneck and motorcycle boots along with a double-breasted cutaway duster coat. Draco gave her an appraising look and licked his lips.

"Apparently, my father finally gave in to Witch Weekly's request for an exclusive interview and it was _leaked_ that I was having my first flying lesson today. I see a rather unhappy letter arriving by owl at the Minister's residence _very_ soon." Épiphanie grumbled. It was then that Draco noticed that she held a TurboXXX broomstick in the crook of her arm.

"I'm afraid you'll have to come back another time, Mr. Malfoy," said Madame Hooch.

"Oh, is it okay if he stays? I'm nervous enough with all these spectators." Épiphanie had a pleading look on her face.

"I promise to stay out of the way," he said.

"Very well, you can help demonstrate proper technique I suppose." The flying instructor relented. "Now then, let's get this over with." She led Épiphanie to the center of the pitch and Draco mounted his broom to hover near the end of the pitch.

He watched with a smile as she successfully commanded the broom to rise and mounted it.

"Have you ever ridden a muggle machine called a bicycle, Miss Shacklebolt?" asked the flying instructor.

"Yes ma'am."

"Well, this isn't much different. Kick off and lean forward just a bit. The broom should hover easily."

Épiphanie did as she was instructed. She expected to wobble as she had the first time she rode a bike, but found that the broom supported her easily and she placed her feet in the metal footrests. She chanced a glance at Draco. He gave her a smile and a thumbs up.

"Alright now, just lean forward a little more and focus on your destination. Why don't you fly down to the end of the pitch by Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Hooch instructed.

Épiphanie bit her lip, gripping the broom handle tightly. She looked at Malfoy and headed slowly toward him. She leaned back slightly as she approached and the broom came to a stop, facing him.

"Wow. I didn't embarrass myself!" she exclaimed.

"You're doing brilliantly!" He encouraged her. "Lean in the direction you want to turn. Come on."

She brought the broom about and they flew towards the other end of the pitch, slowly picking up speed and turning as they reached the scoring area. He led her around the perimeter of the pitch a few times ascending gradually as they flew. Épiphanie delighted in the wind against her face.

"It's like riding a motorcycle!" she called out.

"It's better than that! How about we see what that fancy racing broom can do? Give these reporters what they came for? How about it, Dragonfly!" He turned about and began a rapid ascent towards the opposite goal hoops. He looked back at her with a wicked grin and Épiphanie took the bait. She stretched low over the broom and chased after him, outstripping his Firebolt by a wide margin. They raced to the other end, zig-zagging back and forth. Draco executed a perfect barrel roll and Épiphanie did a double. They reached the far end and spiraled around each other in a vertical climb that took them high above the pitch. The cooler air bit at her face and Épiphanie loved every minute of it. Without a doubt, nothing she had discovered about being a witch so far even came close to this exhilarating feeling. She pulled a precision turn and taunted Draco.

"Come on, Blondie! You gonna let a girl spank dat ass?" She streaked through the air Draco in pursuit, but his Firebolt, although swift, was no match for her top-of-the-line dream broomstick and she easily left him in her wake. Suddenly, an overeager photographer flew into her path, colliding with her and knocking Épiphanie from her broom.

"Fuck! Épiphanie!" he cried out, watching her fall, spinning with arms and legs spread wide.

Before he could point his wand and cast a spell to slow her descent, Épiphanie suddenly tucked her limbs into her body as if she'd been hit with a Petrificus Totalus, pointing her feet, and began to dive towards her falling broom. He watched with trepidation as she caught the broom and stretched out flat against it in a vertical dive. Épiphanie pulled out of her dive only feet from the ground and rocketed back into the air. She hooked her boots tightly over the stirrups and took off across the pitch directly towards the remaining photographers hovering near the top the goalposts. They scattered in alarm as she executed a triple barrel roll right down the middle, glaring angrily. Draco let out a whoop and raced over to where she hovered. They returned to the ground and she gracefully dismounted her broom at a trot.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, pumping her fist. "That was freaking _AWESOME!_ Come on, Malfoy, high five!" They slapped palms as she'd shown him weeks before, shouldering their brooms. Suddenly, Draco fell back, looking past her. She turned to see Madame Hooch and Professor McGonagall striding towards them.

"Both of you will report to my office immediately while _we_ deal with the press!" Minerva hissed, her eyes flashing.

"Oh, crap!" Draco muttered. "We are in detention for sure."

"Nope, I think we're in for worse than that." Épiphanie replied as she pointed out the third figure approaching behind the headmistress and flying instructor. Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Shit! I'm going to Azakaban."


	19. Detentions and Discoveries

**_Detentions and Discoveries_**

"This is _not_ the opening ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup!" Minerva's brogue was evident in her barely restrained fury. Épiphanie and Draco sat contritely before the headmistress' desk, their broomsticks clutched against their shoulders. Madame Hooch rested against a nearby table. Kingsley stood to the side, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Dumbledore and Snape looked on from their portraits with keen interest.

"By rights, I should strip you of your position on the Quidditch team Mr. Malfoy!" Draco's pale face went completely white. "However, as my house loyalty is quite well-documented, I am aware that such a decision might be considered prejudicial."

"It's not all his fault, Professor!" Épiphanie protested.

"Indeed!" Kingsley interjected. "Such a reckless display—and in front of the press!" His voice was low and tight.

"But!"

"Épiphanie you were cautioned when I purchased that broom that you were expected to behave responsibly. You must remember that you are the daughter of the Minister of Magic, and conduct yourself in a matter befitting your station!" His tone and speech reminded Draco of a litany of lectures he had received from Lucius throughout his life, and he spoke up.

"Minister, Headmistress, please don't blame Épiphanie. I shouldn't have encouraged her." He thought of his own first year flying class. "Madame Hooch, do you remember the flying class my first year when Longbottom fell off his broom? I had a laugh at his expense and stole one of his belongings. He was terribly humiliated. Épiphanie was nervous about having her first lesson in front of so many people. I remembered how I treated Neville that day and I only wanted Épiphanie to relax and trust her broom."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Malfoy, both of you acted negligently." Kingsley faced them both. "If you had operated an automobile in such a manner what would have happened?"

"But sir—" Épiphanie began, but Kingsley gave her a look that said he would brook no argument. "My license would be suspended," she muttered.

"The two of you are to attend detention with Madame Hooch for the next two weeks," said Minerva. "You will also turn over your brooms for the same period of time." Both teens gave the headmistress a plaintive look. "Additionally, fifty points will be deducted from Slytherin House." Épiphanie and Draco stared at her, mouths agape. " _Each._ "

"Yes ma'am. Yes, Headmistress," they mumbled, shoulders slumped. They reluctantly presented their broomsticks to the flying instructor and Draco studiously avoided looking at the portrait of his former head of house. He could feel Snape's penetrating gaze upon him nonetheless.

"Now then, do you have anything to add, Madame Hooch?"

"Not at this time, Minerva. I will let you both know when to report for detention." She stood and headed to the double oaken doors. "I must say, that was a rather impressive bit of flying!" She winked before exiting. Minerva looked to Kingsley.

"I'm satisfied that Épiphanie has been suitably chastised." He turned to her and she stood, studying her feet. Kingsley chuckled softly and embraced her. "I suppose I know now why the sorting hat placed you into Slytherin—that certain disregard for the rules."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Minister," Draco stood now. "I would like to apologize for my behavior. You are correct, we acted irresponsibly. I consider Épiphanie a friend, and in the future I will try to keep her best interests in mind." Draco extended his hand. The Minister regarded the young man for a moment and finally clasped his hand.

"Very well, then. You may go." The Headmistress dismissed them.

As Épiphanie and Draco stepped on the moving staircase, they could hear the Headmistress and Minister conversing with the portraits.

"I almost hated to take her broom. I haven't seen flying like that since I was in Auror training!" Kingsley exclaimed. "As a father, I'm honestly chuffed to bits!"

"As well you should be, Kingsley!" Minerva replied. "I was horrified when that fool from the Prophet knocked her from her broom, but the way she tucked and dove after it, Merlin! If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was flying unsupported!"

"Sounds most extraordinary, Minerva," said Snape. "Perhaps you should be concerned about Gryffindor's chances for the Cup…"

The Slytherin students were predictably dismayed by the number of points that Draco and Épiphanie had cost them, and plenty of their housemates voiced their opinions loudly—particularly Nott and Pansy. However, when the post arrived the next day, with copies of the _Daily Prophet_ and a special edition of _Witch Weekly_ , both featuring photos of her and Draco racing around the pitch and Épiphanie's death-defying dive; complaint turned quickly to house pride. Several students from every house owled home with requests for TurboXXX brooms.

Draco and Épiphanie bore the attention with a certain amount of chagrin, as they also endured two weeks with Madame Hooch, polishing and trimming all of the school's brooms, cleaning and arranging the broom shed and setting up the training rooms for the upcoming Quidditch trials. They were immensely grateful when she finally returned their broomsticks and they could spend some time with their friends at last.

Épiphanie sat with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in a small copse of trees beside the lake the following weekend and read a letter from her mother that Kingsley had forwarded by owl and puffed on a cigar. Ron stood at the edge of the water skipping stones. Hermione reclined against a tree reading a book. Ginny leaned against a large boulder flipping absently through _Witch Weekly_ while Harry dozed with his head in her lap.

" _Oh, yes! Like that, darling!_ " she heard Harry murmur, stirring slightly.

"What?" she looked up from her letter.

"Oh, he talks in his sleep sometimes. We all ignore him mostly," Hermione said.

" _Do it again! Yes! Yes! Ohh, Ginny!_ "

"Unh-Unh! Girl, you just gonna let him go on like that?" Épiphanie couldn't understand why no one else was reacting to what Harry was saying.

"I know it sounds weird, but we're used to it." Ginny turned the page in her magazine. "Look, there's a picture of you flying at those reporters again." She held it up.

" _Ohhhh, yes! Yes! Don't stop, darling! Yes! You like my Golden Rod?_ "

Épiphanie's eyes grew large. "Oh, my _God!_ Ginny, girl! Y'all nasty!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Ginny finally looked up from the magazine. Hermione stared at her.

"Seriously?" Épiphanie went to Ginny and whispered in her ear, repeating what Harry had just said.

" _WHAT? Harry James Potter! What the hell?_ " She pushed him off her lap, thumping him in the head.

"Ow, Ginny! What's the matter with you? What did I do?" He rubbed his head and looked at his girlfriend, but she wasn't looking at him now, she was eyeing Épiphanie with suspicion.

"Wait—how did you even know what he was saying?"

Hermione leapt to her feet, dropping her book and ran to Ron, whispering in his ear. He dropped the stone in his hand.

" _Bloody hell,_ " he murmured.

"Didn't you guys hear him?" Épiphanie asked with confusion. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Y-you mean, you actually understood what Harry was saying?" Hermione asked. Harry's eyes widened.

"You mean I was—and she could—"

"Oh, Merlin's pants," Ron whispered.

"What?" Épiphanie asked.

"Room of Requirement?" asked Hermione.

"Let's go!"

They all grabbed their things and headed up to the castle, Épiphanie followed along in complete confusion. Draco met them in the Entrance Hall.

"I was just looking for you—what's going on?" he asked when he saw their expressions.

"I don't know. I just—"

"Not here!" Harry warned. "Come on!"

They reached a stretch of wall on the seventh floor, in front of a large tapestry of a wizard teaching trolls ballet. Harry paced up and down in front of the wall, deep in concentration. On his third pass, a large door appeared and they entered a comfortable room that reminded Épiphanie of the drawing room at the Shacklebolt house.

"This is the Room of Requirement," said Hermione. "It only appears when someone has need of it and it transforms itself to meet whatever your specific needs are—except food."

"I can't believe it survived the fire," Draco murmured looking around.

They all found a seat on the cozy chairs and couches facing each other in a loose arrangement. Draco sat beside Épiphanie. He reached out, tempted to take her hand, but thought better of it. He didn't know how she might react in front of her friends. The movement was not lost on Harry, but he said nothing, turning his attention to the matter at hand.

"What's going on?" Draco asked.

"I wish someone would tell _me_ ," Épiphanie's voice was full of exasperation as she spoke.

"Épiphanie understands parseltongue," said Harry.

Draco looked from him to Épiphanie in astonishment. "How do you know?" he asked.

"What's parseltongue?" Épiphanie asked.

"Harry was talking in his sleep when we were relaxing by the lake," said Hermione.

"What's parseltongue?" she repeated.

"And sharing some _very private_ thoughts." Ginny looked at Harry balefully. He ducked his head, but suppressed a smirk all the same.

"Uh, _excuse me,_ but _what_ is parseltongue?" Épiphanie demanded, pointing to herself. "New girl!"

"It's the ability to speak to snakes," said Hermione.

"Oh, _that_? Is that all?" Épiphanie shrugged. "Y'all act like I was having a psychotic episode."

"No, Épiphanie, you don't understand." Draco placed a hand on her arm. "Parseltongue is a very uncommon skill, and is typically hereditary. Nearly all known parselmouths are descended from Salazar Slytherin himself."

"There have been only two notable exceptions," said Hermione. She went on to explain how Harry came to inherit the unusual ability and the part it played in the war against Voldemort.

"I—wow!" Épiphanie exclaimed.

"But, how can you be a parselmouth? Riddle was the last Slytherin descendant," Draco stated emphatically.

"Well, first of all, remember that I'm not English—not entirely. But as to my abilities, I received the gift from Papa Damballah," she replied with a matter-of-fact shrug.

"Who is that?" asked Hermione.

"Merlin! Something Granger _doesn't_ know!" Draco exclaimed. The group laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Papa Damballah, or Damballah Wedo is one of the highest lwa in the voodoo pantheon. He's the sky god and creator of all life. He rules the mind, intellect, and cosmic equilibrium. We consider him the loving father and his presence brings peace and harmony. His spirit blesses us with the rain and life-giving water." She drew out her wand. " _Flagrate_."

Épiphanie began to draw in the air the image of two serpents entwined about staves with a cross between them. Draco was immediately reminded of Marie's vévé and Épiphanie's wand.

"Ma Mère received the gift from Papa Damballah, and she says that I have inherited it. I don't think much of it, because outside of ritual possessions, I've never heard anyone speak it—until today. It sorta freaks most people out."

"You don't say," snorted Ron.


	20. Voler Vite

**_Voler Vite_**

September quickly gave way to October and the students at Hogwarts, already beginning to feel the stress of lengthy assignments and less free time, began to turn their thoughts to Halloween, the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, and Quidditch trials. On a brisk morning in early October, Draco found himself on the quidditch pitch with several hopefuls, standing toe to toe with Blake Vaisey in a heated debate.

"You're mad! No way I'm playing with a _girl!_ " Vaisey shouted.

"Well maybe it's time for a change," Draco argued.

"Slytherin has been _all_ male since Hogwarts began! The only reason you're giving her a trial is because her father is the Minister!"

"I'm giving her a trial because she's _good!_ Did you not see what she can do on a broom? Look, Gryffindor has Potter, the Weasleys—their _entire_ team coming back. I'm captain, and I for one, have no intention of losing the Cup to that lot! She gets a trial, and that's final!"

Vaisey let out a huff. "Fine! We'll let your _girlfriend_ have a trial, but we'd _better_ win that cup, Malfoy, or I'll hex you both into oblivion!" He mounted his broom and took off. Draco tightened the thong around his hair and squared his shoulders before facing the group of hopefuls who had watched the exchange with interest.

"Right then. First years are not allowed to play Quidditch, so if that's you, clear out." About one fourth of the group left the pitch, grumbling amongst themselves. Draco sorted the remaining aspirants into groups according to the positions they wished to play. He assigned them some flying drills and whittled the group down to about half of the original number. "Alright, let's see if you have any skills." He put each group through specific drills and scenarios appropriate to each position, beaters playing with a junior quidditch soft-bludger. It wouldn't do for him to fill Madame Pomfrey's infirmary with Slytherins. After personally challenging aspirants for reserve seeker, he organized a scrimmage, dividing the remaining players into two squads. He approached Épiphanie as she mounted her broom.

"Listen, this team has a reputation for playing dirty. Vaisey's blinkered and he's going to be coming for you. Watch your back. Just remember everything I showed you. You'll be brilliant."

She kicked off and Draco released the balls before flying off to a safe distance where he could observe. As predicted, Vaisey immediately went for Épiphanie, snatching the quaffle as soon as it was released and streaking off to the opposite end of the pitch. Not to be outdone, Épiphanie raced after him and quickly overtook him on her faster broom. She threw herself hard against him, knocking the quaffle from his hands, then pulled her broom handle up sharply until she was in a backwards loop, diving straight down. She caught the quaffle and raced off to the other end of the pitch, keeping herself low to the ground which made it more difficult for the beaters balls to make contact. Just outside the scoring zone, she pulled into a sharp ascent and passed the quaffle to Blaise, who flung it through the goal. Draco needn't have worried. The entire scrimmage was all Épiphanie. Of the ten goals her side scored, seven of them belonged to her. Blake Vaisey scored the only goals to get past Harper as keeper.

"You realize that we can no longer be friends," said Ginny as they arrived in the Entrance Hall the next morning, after learning of Épiphanie's spot on the team, only the slightest hint of teasing in her voice.

"Are you serious?" Épiphanie asked incredulously.

"Oh, absolutely!" Harry put in, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You good for a flutter, Potter?" asked Draco. "Say forty galleons?"

"Forty Galleons?" Épiphanie exclaimed.

"What's the spread?" Harry asked.

"Let's say ten points. Throw in an extra ten galleons if the winner takes the snitch."

"I'll take that bet. All debts settled by midnight."

"You're on." The two shook hands and the group continued into the Great Hall.

"Damn, what is this, the Iron Bowl?" Épiphanie muttered as she followed the group.

Professor Slughorn's chest swelled with pride as he took his seat at the head table that morning, and the Hall was abuzz with the news that Slytherin had its first witch on the Quidditch team in the school's history. It also seemed that the Headmistress had turned a blind eye as students in each house began setting up betting pools on the season opener between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Épiphanie was surprised when another owl landed with her father's owl, Rameses. She took the letter from Ramses and offered him some toast as she read the note of congratulations and a promise to attend the first match if his schedule permitted. Rameses took off and she turned her attention to the Eurasian Eagle Owl that somewhat resembled her own Hatshepsut and released the package from its talons. It flew off before she could offer it a treat and she opened the package. Inside was a set of Quidditch armor in black to match the Slytherin uniforms. She opened the note that was included.

 _Voler vite, ma Zirondelle!_

Épiphanie looked over at Draco who was sitting a little ways down the table, lightly stroking the owl that had delivered the package. As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned to her and winked.


	21. To The Iron Bowl!

**_To The Iron Bowl!_**

The first Hogsmeade weekend dawned clear and cool and the castle was abuzz with excitement. Many third years could be seen repeatedly checking their pockets as they made their way to breakfast that morning, not wanting to be slowed by a forgotten or lost permission note. Draco stood before the mirror in the dormitory appraising his appearance carefully. He wore a white silk turtleneck and black jeans with a pair of black lug-sole boots that Épiphanie had insisted he buy on their shopping trip when he was in New Orleans. He'd assented to the _Timberland_ boots only if he could purchase a pair in black as well as the fawn colored ones that she picked out. He brushed his hair, which now fell past his shoulders and let it hang freely this morning. He was still struck by his resemblance to Lucius when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, but shook it off. _That's all the recognition he'll get from me._ He slipped into a double-breasted leather duster with silver buttons that was fitted through the waist and flared full to the floor. Tucking his wand into a hidden pocket, he headed to the common room.

Several students gasped when Draco swept into the room.

"Merlin!" Nott swore.

Épiphanie, who had been sitting in the corner, stood and approached him. He felt slightly faint seeing her again in the same ensemble she wore the day of her flying lesson, this time with a high-collared fitted blouse that featured ruffled cuffs which peeked out of her coat sleeves. Her hair was loose this time and he noticed that it was parted down the middle and perfectly straight. The entire common room was transfixed, watching the pair with barely concealed interest.

"Wow! You look— _fine!_ " Épiphanie declared. He gave her a courtly bow.

"I would be most honored if you would allow me to escort you to Hogsmeade, mademoiselle." He offered his hand. Épiphanie let out a laugh and took his hand.

"Delighted."

Filch gave a startled yelp when the two approached the gates and Épiphanie held out her permission slip. As Draco was of age and emancipated, he did not require signed permission. The old caretaker stared at him, and Épiphanie had to give her form a shake before he snapped back to himself and took it from her hand. She looked down at Mrs. Norris who hissed and shrank behind him.

Draco offered his arm and the two cut quite a figure as they made their way up the high street in Hogsmeade, the light breeze billowing out their coats as they walked and Draco pointing out the sights to Épiphanie. More than a few wizards and witches shrank back when they first laid eyes on Draco then stared in open shock. They were also accosted by a few brave villagers who greeted Épiphanie, the witches asking her to sign their special edition _Witch Weekly_ magazines. Several minutes passed before they were able to break from the growing crowd and passed on to The Three Broomsticks.

The pub fell silent when the pair stepped inside and several hands went for wands as startled witches and wizards stared with open hostility at Draco, but drew back in confusion when Harry Potter called out to the couple from a large booth near the back of the room.

"Draco, Épiphanie! Come join us!"

Épiphanie frowned slightly as they crossed the room. She heard more than a few people whispering in their wake. " _Isn't that The Minister's daughter?...What could she possibly be doing on the arm of a Malfoy?...I wonder if The Minister is aware…Did you hear she's a Slytherin?...Really?...Wasn't there a picture of the two of them racing brooms in the Prophet?...and Witch Weekly!...I heard she's the first witch ever to play on Slytherin's Quidditch team!..._ "

They took a seat at the table and Draco called for a bottle of firewhiskey and a round of butterbeer for the group. Épiphanie was introduced to Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas. She lit a cigar and the group relaxed into comfortable conversation over fish and chips and several rounds of drinks. They regaled Épiphanie with tales about the Triwizard Tournament and teased Ron about his attempt to ask Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball.

"Wait—the same woman who's married to Professor Weasley?" Épiphanie asked, panting with laughter. "Your brother?"

Épiphanie also discovered why Ginny called Draco _the ferret_ that day they were reunited on the Express.

"Oh, I'm lovin' this!" she grinned. Draco groaned and turned the conversation to the upcoming Quidditch match.

"Épiphanie, what's an iron bowl have to do with the quidditch match? Is that an American variation?" Ginny asked.

"No, no, not _an_ iron bowl— _The Iron Bowl._ Down south, where I live in the United States, football is like a religion with the muggles."

"It's a religion here, too," said Dean.

"Oh, no, Dean. I should be more specific. Your football, which we call soccer in America, isn't quite so popular. American football is sort of like your rugby, but with helmets and pads. Anyway, most universities have teams and the different regions of the country are divided into conferences and divisions with the larger universities being in Division I. The University of Alabama and Auburn University have a _huge_ rivalry game every year called the Iron Bowl—that's what they call the trophy that the winning team gets to keep. It has some other name, but I forget what it is. Families, relationships and marriages have broken up over the rivalry. The game is a huge event with smack-talk that has even dissolved into deadly fights."

"Blimey!" Dean exclaimed. "There's been some ugly fights that have ended in duels landing a few people in the hospital wing, but no one ever _died._

"You have no idea. Several of the universities have big rivalries, but the Iron Bowl is like nationwide! And the wagers are _ridiculous_! So, when I heard Draco and Harry making a $200 bet with a $50 bonus, I thought of all the clients we had coming in asking us to work roots on their rival team or predict the outcome of the game. I should say I've made the equivalent of up to 14000 galleons on that game in a single day." She winked.

"Bloody hell!" said Ron.

Draco poured two shots of firewhiskey and passed one to Harry. "To the Iron Bowl!" he raised his glass. Harry raised his glass.

"To the Iron Bowl!" They tossed back their drinks.

"The Iron Bowl!" the group cheered, raising their drinks.

Draco and Épiphanie left the group and moved on to Honeydukes, where they filled up on sweets and then continued up the street towards the Shrieking Shack where they heard a disturbance. They noticed two Slytherin boys accosting a younger Ravenclaw girl.

"Give it back!" she begged, reaching for what looked to be a package from Zonko's Joke Shop.

"Aw! She's begging! C'mon, let's hear it!"

The girl tearfully pointed her wand, her hand shaking visibly. "Please!"

"Are you gonna curse me, mudblood?" he teased. "Expelliarmus!" The girl's wand soared from her hand and landed in the tall grass outside the Shack. She began to cry in earnest. She turned to search for her wand, but the other boy blocked her path and pointed his wand at her.

"Where are you going, Mudblood! You heard my mate! What'll you do for it?"

"I don't—I don't—" she sobbed, falling to her knees.

"Now, that's more like it! That's where you belong, you little filthy Mudblood—on your knees!" He grabbed his crotch as he spoke and took a step towards her.

"Oh _HELL no!"_ Épiphanie charged forward, drawing her wand, Draco close on her heels.

"Levicorpus!" she bellowed.

"Levicorpus!" Draco barked. "Expelliarmus maxima!" The two boys were unceremoniously hoisted into the air by their ankles and disarmed. Épiphanie caught their wands, her face a mask of rage as she continued forward.

"Stupefy Duo!" The boys were blasted back several yards and landed unconscious among the trees. She raised her wand again, a curse on the tip of her tongue, but Draco grabbed her arm.

"If you use an unforgivable curse you'll be expelled!" he warned. Épiphanie stared blankly at him for several seconds, her chest heaving with murderous rage. " _Calm down, please my love!_ " he begged. She shook her head. " _She needs you!_ "

Épiphanie shuddered and shook her head. Her eyes softened and she turned to the girl, kneeling beside her and drawing her into her arms. Draco summoned the girl's wand and belongings. They walked her back to the castle and to the Hospital wing, explaining what happened to Madame Pomfrey, who put the girl to bed with a calming draught and alerted The Headmistress.

"…and then we brought her back to the castle." Draco held Épiphanie's hand tightly as he finished recounting the incident to Minerva. He could feel her still trembling with disquiet as she sat beside him, staring out of the window as he spoke.

Minerva sent patronus messages to Professors Slughorn, Flitwick and Weasley, who arrived almost immediately, and informed them of the situation. She dispatched Bill to the Shrieking Shack to retrieve the boys and return them to her office immediately.

"I caution you not to speak of this incident with anyone. I understand your reasons for acting as you have, but you are aware that attacking your fellow students is against school rules. Professors Flitwick, Slughorn and I will settle the matter."

"Yes, professor," they said in unison.

"We have their wands." Draco placed them on the Headmistress' desk.

"You are dismissed."

Draco clung to Épiphanie's hand as he led her from The Headmistress' office. She followed him silently as if in a trance. They entered the nearest empty classroom. Draco cast a charm to seal the door followed by Muffliato, then he gripped Épiphanie's arms, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Épiphanie, where are you? What's happening? Please speak to me!" he begged. He gave her a bit of a shake. She looked past him as she spoke.

"Do you _realize_ what they were going to do to her?" her voice was low and hoarse.

"I do."

"She's only a second year! How could they! _My God!_ "

Draco pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair gently.

"Not everyone is over the war. Old attitudes are difficult to change, Dragonfly. You taught me about the history of ethnic discrimination in the muggle world. You know what that is like. I am ashamed to confess that it wasn't so long ago that I thought the same way about muggles and muggleborns, though I would never do anything so heinous as that. It was the way I was raised. It took a murderous lunatic to open my eyes and it is my life's greatest regret. I heard the whispers in the pub, but I've spent a lifetime shaking off the stares and finger pointing. They think that I am with you to for self-serving reasons. I confess there's an element of truth to that, but it isn't for some social-climbing end. That's the type of conniving action that Lucius would take. You told me that I have to be the change I want to see in the world. I've been trying to figure out my feelings ever since I met you, Épiphanie. Finally, I realized that I'm falling in love with you. I never want you to think less of me. Maybe if you can learn to love me, we can prove to the world that it's possible for anyone to change—even an arrogant, narcissistic former Death Eater." He took her face into his hands and stared into her tear-filled eyes. He wiped them away with his thumbs.

"I—" she began.

"Remember what the headmistress told us at the Start of term feast—there is prejudice all around, but if we remember that everyone has feelings and never lose sight of the future that _we_ want, anything can happen. We are the new era at Hogwarts. We are standing on hallowed ground and walk with spirits who know what it is to be loyal in every moment and believe that even in the darkest of times there is love, light and hope. Please, Épiphanie! I live for your love." He whispered. He held her face, gently kissing her tearstained cheeks. Épiphanie grabbed his hands and looked up at him. They held each other's gaze. She pressed her lips to his, twining her fingers in his hair. He held her tighter, shuddering with relief and blinking back tears. He backed her against the door, pressing his body to her as if he could melt into her. They broke the kiss and stared deeply into one another's eyes. They touched one another as if they were trying to memorize the other's face—to make one another real.

 _I have demons too._

 _You don't have to fight them alone._

 _Do you promise?_

 _Always._

The Slytherins were dismayed to discover a dramatic loss of house points overnight and speculated among themselves as to who had cost them their ranking. There was rampant finger-pointing and plans for revenge on the culprits. No one seemed to be aware, however, that two of their housemates had suddenly taken leave without explanation. If those two unexplained events weren't enough to throw the Slytherins into a state of turmoil when they arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, it was the realization that Draco Malfoy and Épiphanie Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt were officially a couple. Harry nudged Ron and inclined his head in their direction. Hermione and Ginny grinned widely and began to whisper. Nott, Zabini and Pansy scowled as they passed hand-in-hand. Vaisey rolled his eyes and Harry was sure that some gold exchanged hands at the Staff Table. Nurse Pomfrey inclined her head towards Professor Sprout and they whispered, pointing discreetly at the two young people who smiled occasionally over a shared thought, catching one another's gaze and chastely turning away, only to find themselves staring at one another again, their meals largely untouched.

The owls arrived with the mail and copies of the Prophet. Suddenly The Hall came to life with murmurings as students and teachers alike opened their news and took in the large photo spread on the front page with its accompanying headline: _Minister's Daughter Friends With Former Death Eater?_

The Hall echoed with murmurs of "Bloody Hell! …Brilliant! …Merlin! …You can't be serious!"

"Pay up, Potter!" Ron laughed. "Ouch, Hermione!"

Épiphanie opened the paper to see a photo of herself and Draco entering the village arm in arm. There was another of them being set upon by the eager townspeople, but the largest photo was of them sitting in the pub as Draco and Harry shared a toast.

" _The wizarding world was stunned to learn shortly before the start of the school term that Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt had fathered a child and abandoned her to be raised alone in America for sixteen years. Now his daughter, Miss Épiphanie Marie Catherine Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt has arrived in England in grand fashion. She has enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where this reporter was shocked to learn that she was sorted into Slytherin House! We can only assume that this is where she promptly took up with former Death Eater Draco Lucius Malfoy, who was recently acquitted—along with his parents—of war crimes, largely based upon the testimony of one Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Mr. Malfoy, who, it should be noted, has startled many with his pale blond hair now falling past his shoulders in much the same fashion as Lucius Malfoy's trademark tresses, was present at Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt's second public appearance where they put on a spectacular show of flying that was featured in publications throughout the Magisphere. But perhaps the most notable event of all was the arrival of the pair, dressed in similar fashion, at the Three Broomsticks Inn in Hogsmeade (Madam Rosmerta, proprietor), whereupon they were invited by Harry Potter himself to join the company of the Golden Trio and other veterans of the recent conflict. The couple is seen happily engaging in conversation, during which Potter and Malfoy shared a toast. Was this a political move? Could the two bitter rivals have sealed a peace accord? The Minister has declined to comment and when the Prophet attempted to contact Malfoy Manor regarding the recent sightings, we were turned away at the gate and informed, to our great astonishment, that Malfoy the younger no longer resides at the Manor. One can only speculate what the Former Death Eater, who was once part of You-Know-Who's inner circle, and The Savior of the wizarding world were toasting. One thing is for sure, we all wait with bated breath for further developments of this saga!"_

Two eagle owls—one a Eurasian, the other a Pharaoh, swooped into the hall bearing letters and landed in front of the couple. They gave each other a wary glance as they took the envelopes and the birds flew away.

"Well, they don't look to be howlers," said Ron, as they craned their necks to see the pair on the other side of the room. The two both took a deep breath and opened their letters.

 _Epiphanie,_

 _I have just read the advance edition of the Daily Prophet. I have instructed the headmistress not to allow any reporters access to Hogwarts. Please do not respond to any owls requesting comment. I look forward to seeing you at the upcoming Quidditch match. Good luck, I know you will perform admirably._

 _All my love,_

 _Father_

Épiphanie breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at Draco, whose letter was considerably longer. He scowled as he read and crumpled the letter, vanishing it. When he looked up, she gave him a concerned smile. He gave her a wink. She smiled more broadly. He noticed Harry watching over her shoulder and gave him a nod. Harry returned his nod. Both young men glanced up at the head table. Professor McGonagall raised her glass.

"Well done, gentlemen," she murmured. "Well done."

Épiphanie paused in her task of helping Professor Sprout and Neville Longbottom turn over compost in the greenhouses. She'd offered to help with the chore as a way of saying thanks to Neville for helping her get caught up to level and join the regular class. She moved closer to the open skylight and turned her face to the fading sun, straining her ears.

"All right, Épiphanie?" asked Neville

"Do you hear it?" she asked.

"Hear what?" he moved closer to where she stood, removing his dragon hide gloves.

"It sounds like…music." She said, curiously. "Is that a violin?"

"Oh, _that!_ Yes. Haunting isn't it?" Professor Sprout set down her trowel and joined them.

"It began last year," said Neville. "No one really knows where it comes from. One of the towers perhaps? With all that was happening at the time, I think people were afraid to investigate."

"I'm sure."

"At any rate, it always began at this time of day, or after dinner. People were startled at first then it seemed to have a calming effect on the atmosphere. Unfortunately, once we went underground, we weren't able to hear it in the Room of Requirement. I think some students missed it. I know I did. But I would close my eyes at night and imagine the melodies I'd heard. I think it may well have kept me from going mad."

The music continued to float on the air as Épiphanie made her way back to the castle. She noticed that many of the students she passed seemed to be meditating upon the melody, closing their eyes as they sat or turning their heads in order to catch the notes. She determined that she would find the source of the music and stopped. She closed her eyes and focused directly on the melody, allowing it to envelop her. She walked as if guided by some unseen force.

The sun had become a ribbon of orange above the trees when Épiphanie mounted the spiral stairs leading up to the Astronomy Tower. The music grew louder and clearer as she neared the top. She was only mildly surprised to see the handsome blond sitting on the floor with his back against the parapet, sliding a bow across the strings, his graceful and slender fingers dancing over them in vibrato. She stood in the shadows watching him for several minutes before she stepped forward. When he stopped playing and turned to her, his face was wet with tears. She sat down beside him and he gathered her into his arms.

"I lost my soul here," he said.

"This is where it happened?"

"He begged me. Told me that I wasn't a murderer. It didn't matter in the end. He still died. It was still my fault."

He sniffed and she reached up to stroke his hair. They sat in silence as the last light of day faded into night.

"My mother insisted when I was very young that I should have a music education. When it all went dark after Dumbledore's death, there was so much fear and stress and pain you could feel it like a veil over everything. I would come up here to escape. The music was like flying. It was only for me at first, but then I heard others talking about it, saying that it kept them from feeling as if they were losing their minds. I had to keep coming. It was my penance. You won't tell will you?"

"Of course not." She pulled his arms around her more tightly, and he kissed her temple.


	22. Game Face

_**Game Face**_

In the week leading up to the first Quidditch match of the season, tensions began to run high between Slytherins and Gryffindors, with wands being drawn on more than one occasion. Draco reminded his housemates that their already dwindling house points were at stake and threatened to bench any player who was caught dueling. Harry reminded his team that they had plenty of advantage and need not lose their head to the obvious baiting by a desperate rival.

The day of the match arrived slightly overcast, meaning that the hunt for the snitch would be a difficult one with no sunlight to reflect off its golden body. Both captains encouraged their teams to run up the score as much as possible. The Slytherin training rooms had been expanded to accommodate their new female player and Épiphanie sat in her well-appointed dressing room with her headphones over her ears, eyes closed, nodding her head to the music as she waited for the call to line up. She felt a presence and opened her eyes.

"You know this is the Ladies'," she smiled.

"Captain's privilege," replied Draco, returning her smile. He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "How are you feeling."

"I'm not sure. A bit empty like I used to just before a band performance. All of the choreography was gone from my head, but the moment that whistle blew, I knew just what to do. I hope that's what I'm feeling right now."

"Brilliant. You've been a quick study. Ginny will probably try to get into your head. Don't underestimate her. She's an aggressive player. So is Katie. Ron favors his left, so try to get him to move right." They heard Madame Hooch's whistle and Draco kissed her forehead. "Voler vite, ma Zirondelle."

"Attrape ce snitch, mon furet." She winked.

The stands of the quidditch pitch vibrated with excitement as students and teachers alike anticipated the first match of the season. Hermione sat with Neville, Hannah, Seamus and the rest of the Gryffindors, wrapped in all manner of scarlet and gold hats and scarves. On the opposite side of the pitch, the Slytherins were similarly attired. The students all rose when The Headmistress entered the staff box accompanied by the Minister of Magic and a select delegation from the ministry, including the press corps. A shout rang out when Madame Hooch stepped onto the pitch carrying the box containing the official game balls. Finally, the teams were announced and marched onto the field, led by their captains, Harry and Draco. Hermione focused her omnioculars and gazed at Épiphanie. She was lined up with the Slytherin chasers, Vaisey and Blaise Zabini. Her hair was in a single tight French braid that hung down her back and her eyes were alert.

"She doesn't look nervous," said Hermione.

"Looks like she's got her game face on," said Neville.

"So does Ginny! Where's your house pride?" Seamus admonished them. His face was painted scarlet on one side and gold on the other.

On the field, the teams met Madame Hooch.

"I hope you've got your gold, Potter!" Draco leveled a deadly gaze at Harry.

"You just make sure you've got your own gold together, Malfoy!" Harry bit back.

"Aright! I want a clean game from both teams! Are we clear!" Madame Hooch warned the captains. They nodded. "Now shake hands."

"To the Iron Bowl," said Harry.

"To the Iron Bowl," Draco echoed. They touched fists.

She released the bludgers and snitch then threw the quaffle into the air and the players kicked off. Ginny and Épiphanie shot straight up after the quaffle, Ginny snatching it from the air, just as Épiphanie's fingers touched the ball. She winked malevolently and streaked across the pitch towards the Slytherin goal. Épiphanie caught up to her just before she reached the scoring zone and kicked the ball from where it was tucked under Ginny's arm. It fell and Épiphanie dove after it. She grabbed the quaffle and rocketed straight for the Gryffindor goal. Inside the scoring area, Ron Weasley stared her down, blocking the right goal hoop as she approached. She turned sharply and shot up, hurling the quaffle through the center hoop.

Professor Flitwick chuckled when Minerva cursed audibly, her expletive echoing throughout the pitch when it was picked up by the device amplifying the announcer's voice. Several students laughed. Draco pumped his fist in the air as he watched from above.

Ron angrily returned the quaffle to play and they had a game. When Vaisey tried to intercept the quaffle, Ginny executed a double barrel roll and commenced a series of forward pass volleys between herself and Katie Bell, each time changing altitude until Ginny finally passed the quaffle to Dean, who easily scored past Harper. Gryffindor scored once more before Slytherin took control of the quaffle again. The Slytherin beaters went on a vicious offensive that forced the Gryffindor chasers to focus on defensive flying and allowed Slytherin to take thirty point lead.

Harry and Draco circled the high above the action, occasionally focusing for very brief moments on the match while they searched for their prize. The Slytherins had Gryffindor pinned down with a score of 150 to 20. Harry knew it was time to find the snitch and shut the game down. Gryffindor wasn't giving an inch, and battling back hard. For the last 2 hours, Ron had prevented any more goals from being scored. Suddenly, a flash of gold shot past him and Draco was bearing down hard.

"Wake up, Potter!" he yelled as he passed, his ponytail flying behind him. Harry pursued him like a madman, his eyes focused on the snitch which suddenly went into a dive. Draco was a half second too late and Harry bore down on the tiny golden ball.

Over the next hour and a half, the snitch changed direction again and again, and Draco and Harry changed leads in the chase over and over again, the match still going on below. They climbed sharply into the clouds and lost sight of the snitch, flying aimlessly. Descending, Draco caught sight of the snitch again zig-zagging down into the pitch. He pursued it with a vengeance. The tiny golden ball zoomed straight down into the middle of the action and Draco dove after it, forcing the other players to dodge out of his way in his single-minded determination. The cheering of the crowd mingled with the rush of wind in his ears.

The snitch was inches beyond the nose of his broom and he pushed against his foot rests, stretching out for the elusive winged ball. In the next instant, it was gone. He pulled out of the dive just feet before he slammed into the ground only to discover the tiny gold wings fluttering in Harry's fist.

"Shit!" Draco cursed, glaring at him for a moment, before he noticed the expression on Harry's face. The celebrating that he heard was not coming from the Gryffindor side, but from his own team, who dismounted their brooms whooping with joy.

While he and Harry were locked in a shootout for dominance over the snitch, the Slytherins had gone on a thirty-point scoring drive, led by Épiphanie. They had won the match 180 to 170.

He stood, looking from the Gryffindors licking their wounds to the Slytherins dancing around with joy.

"Oi! Listen up, you lot!" he shouted to his teammates, waving them in. "This is the noble sport of warlocks—and witches—" he smiled at Épiphanie. "And at the _new_ Hogwarts, we commend our opponents on a game well-played!"

He turned to Harry and a dumbfounded Gryffindor team, extending his hand.

"Well done, Potter."

"Well done, Malfoy." Harry clasped his hand and the two teams crossed the middle of the pitch, shaking hands respectfully, if not entirely willingly.

From their seats in the staff box, Minerva turned to Kingsley.

"Well, Minister. I don't think I believe I would live to ever see _that!_ " she declared.

"Headmistress, I'm not sure I could ever have dreamed such a thing myself," Kingsley agreed.


	23. Fathers and Face-Offs

_**Fathers and Face-Offs**_

Draco emerged from the training rooms to find The Minister of Magic waiting. He faltered, wondering if he should duck back into the training room, when Kingsley turned.

 _Buck up, man! You're still a Malfoy!_ He squared his shoulders, giving his hair a toss and stepped forward.

"Minister. Good to see you, sir. I hope you enjoyed the match."

"Impressive game, Mr. Malfoy."

"I would have preferred to catch the snitch, but I must say that Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt's performance more than made up for that disappointment. She has certainly proven herself worthy of the position and the honor of being the first witch to make the Slytherin team." He allowed a slight smile. The minister gave a slight nod of assent, but did not return his smile.

"That she did." Kingsley looked off towards the Forbidden Forest before he spoke again. "Mr. Malfoy, I must say that I was concerned and curious about the nature of your relationship with my daughter after the stunt the two of you pulled during her flying lesson. Although I have not been a significant part of Épiphanie's life, for reasons I am sure you might understand if you give it a reasonable amount of thought, I have been aware of her existence and I have done what I thought was necessary to keep her safe and give her a life that I realize many of you who have survived the war were not blessed to have in spite of some of your privileges."

Draco said nothing, having anticipated this necessary conversation. He waited for The Minister to continue.

"Épiphanie has proven to be an exceptionally gifted witch. I am certain that we have yet to see the breadth of her remarkable powers. As such, you can appreciate my apprehension. We are right now, celebrating the end of a reign of terror that has left an indelible mark on the wizarding world. But Alastor Moody used to warn us to exercise constant vigilance. There are still those out there with dark intentions, and they will stop at little to see them to fruition. Épiphanie is new to the wizarding world. She doesn't know the dangers out there, or even comprehend her own strength, especially coupled with such a wand as hers. I am reminded of the old days, and as a father, I am disturbed. The suddenness of this relationship—"

"Sir, I believe that I understand your concern and I stand by the promise I made to you in The Headmistress' office. As such, I have a confession to make…"

Draco told The Minister about his trip to New Orleans, carefully editing the events about how he actually discovered that Épiphanie was a witch and revealed it to her. He described the revelations he made about the muggle world and his departure from Malfoy Manor.

"I have established a respectable home at one of my properties in London. Minister, I am quite sincere in my feelings for Épiphanie. She came to me as I struggled with the darkest days of my life. I am honestly in love with her. She changed my life. She…she saved me. I would gladly give my life to ensure her happiness." Draco held The Minister's gaze as he spoke.

Épiphanie was not prepared to discover Draco in deep conversation with her father when she emerged from the training rooms. She stood and watched as they talked, unable to hear what they were saying, but after several minutes, they shook hands and she tentatively stepped forward.

"Sir."

"Impressive flying, my darling! I couldn't be more pleased—even if you did utterly humiliate my house." He gave her a proud grin. Draco beamed beside her.

"You were _brilliant!_ I thought we were done for at first, when I saw Harry holding the snitch." Draco gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"I'm not so sure I my friends will ever speak to me again—especially Ginny." Épiphanie grimaced.

"Ginevra takes her quidditch seriously, as does Ron," said Kingsley. "But I'm sure they'll come around. If there's one thing that they know, it's the value of friendship."

Later that night, Harry approached Draco and handed him a pouch with forty galleons, but Draco refused to accept it. They debated the issue for several minutes.

"Why not just take it, Malfoy. I'm certainly hurting for it no more than you are," said Harry in exasperation. "I'll just win it back in the cup match."

"That's it!" Draco declared. "I have a better idea, but I may need your help with it." He explained the idea to Harry, who mulled it over before finally agreeing that it might work.

"Well, it is different. I suppose that if you think we can convince McGonagall, I'm in."

Everyone was surprised a few weeks later when Hufflepuff trounced Ravenclaw 200 to 40, putting them in first place in the Quidditch cup standings. All of the teachers began to increase the amount of homework they set in anticipation of the end of the first term and more and more students saw themselves in the library than sitting by the fire in their common rooms enjoying a game of exploding snap or taking part in a quick snowball fight on the grounds. Draco and Épiphanie were headed to the library to complete their essays for potions when they saw Bill Weasley exit his classroom and head in their direction.

"Shit!" Draco muttered, his step faltering. He started to pull Épiphanie in another direction, but she resisted.

"I told you this would happen," she said. "Now man up!" she snapped. Draco had missed the last three class sessions in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Épiphanie had warned Draco that he was missing important content as well as costing the house points, and enquired as to what he was doing with his time, but he'd refused to explain, insisting that she wouldn't understand.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt."

"Professor, comment ça va?" Épiphanie asked.

"Je vais bien, merci. Et toi?" he replied with a smile.

"I am well, thank you."

"Would you excuse me? I need a word with Mr. Malfoy."

"Well, we were just on the way to the library to—" Draco began.

"I'll just take your books with me and head down to find us a table. You go on." Épiphanie gave him a pointed look and pulled the strap of his satchel from his shoulder before leaving him alone with the Defense professor. Draco frowned after her retreating back.

"Shall we?" Bill gestured to the open door of the defense classroom. Draco reluctantly entered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. The professor flicked his wand and the door quietly clicked shut behind him. "Draco, I'm curious as to why you have decided not to attend our recent lessons. I'm well aware that you are more than proficient in defense—as are quite a few of your peers, but class attendance is still mandatory, barring official exemption from the headmistress or Madame Pomfrey. Casting a satisfactory Patronus is twenty percent of your practical examination."

"With all due respect, Professor, I shall be willing to accept a Fail on that portion of the examination," replied Draco.

"Care to explain?"

"I do not." Draco fixed his eyes on a spider scuttling along the wall below the window.

"I'm afraid that is unacceptable, Mr. Malfoy. You have an excellent academic record, in spite of all of the turmoil that has interrupted your studies—Care of Magical Creatures and Divination notwithstanding—why throw that away over one lesson?"

Draco snapped his head up and looked directly into the red haired man's scarred face.

"It's not just _one_ lesson, _Professor!_ It's _that_ lesson!" he snapped. "I _won't_ do it. I—I can't." Draco's shoulders slumped and he looked away again.

"Draco, I understand that the patronus is a difficult charm to cast. If you—"

"I _can't_ do it. Do you know what will happen if—" Draco couldn't finish. Bill stared at him a moment before the realization dawned on him.

"Do you really think you're unworthy?" he asked.

"I just—I can't take that chance." Draco looked at Bill, his eyes full of anguish.

Bill sighed heavily. "Very well, I will grant you this one exemption, Draco. However, you must not skive off any more classes, and take at least four of five duels in your practical."

"I understand. Thank you, sir."

"You may go." Draco started for the door. "But Draco, it is only to yourself that you must prove worthy."

On the day set forth for the dueling portion of the Defense practical, the students were divided into mixed groups of nine on two sides. Professor Weasley explained that each student would face each member of the group on the opposing side once. Each bout would last no more than three minutes in which students were to use only magical means to disarm, stun, or defeat their opponent by forcing them into submission at least twice. Unforgivable curses were not allowed and would result in a Fail as well as disciplinary action. Professor Flitwick was to be the referee.

"Excuse me, Professor?" Épiphanie raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt?"

"I have previously engaged and defeated Mr. Malfoy in open combat—more than once." Épiphanie pointed to the assignments that they had been handed. Draco gave her an incredulous look as several students snickered. She winked at him.

"While I appreciate your candor, Épiphanie. That you have previously dueled outside of controlled circumstances simply means that Mr. Malfoy is aware of your potential weakness and is more prepared to face you." Bill continued with his arrangement of the classroom.

"That may well be, sir, but I never have, nor do I now have any intention of exhibiting weakness, and Mr. Malfoy would consider it a personal affront if I were to, as we say 'take a dive' in order to save his pride," she continued, her expression deadpan.

"Oh, most _definitely!_ " Draco muttered. The class erupted in laughter.

"Very well. Mr. Malfoy, kindly exchange sides with Miss Williams." He pointed to a dark-haired Ravenclaw. "Now, let's make this interesting shall we? The students with the most individual wins in each group will advance until we have only two remaining. The winner of the final duel will receive a trophy." He held up a gold cup and called the first groups to the strip.

Harry, Hermione, Draco, Épiphanie, Ron and most of Dumbledore's Army easily dispatched their opponents and advanced to the next rounds. The scores were tallied and predictably, Harry and Épiphanie had the highest scores. As they prepared to take the strip, Theodore Nott, who was tied with Draco behind Harry by one win, muttered his complaint.

"If ever there was a stacked deck, this is it! Harry Potter has defeated The Dark Lord," the boy pointed out. "Who could possibly defeat him in a duel?"

"Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt, as a matter of fact." Harry replied with a smirk.

"Is that so?" asked Professor Flitwick with interest. Épiphanie shrugged diffidently.

"The Headmistress can confirm it," said Harry.

"Well, if Mr. Potter _were_ in fact willing to forfeit, Mr. Nott, you would still have to duel Mr. Malfoy for the opportunity to take on Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt," said the professor.

 _Ooh, please, please, please!_

"Professor, if Harry is willing to forfeit, I will happily allow Mr. Nott to face Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt," said Draco. He raised his eyebrows at Harry.

"Mr. Potter?" asked the professor.

"Very well." He stepped aside. Nott eagerly took to the strip and Harry sat down next to Draco. "She's going to _destroy_ him," he murmured.

"Definitely." They touched fists.

"Bow," Professor Flitwick instructed.

"Let's see how well you do against someone who isn't a fawning sycophant," Nott said.

"Let's see if you can get some sousoute without using an Imperious curse," Épiphanie replied flippantly, pulling a face.

"Pret! Allez!"

"Calvario!" Nott exclaimed.

"Seriously?" Épiphanie rolled her eyes as she casually deflected his hair removal spell.

 _Flipendo!_ Nott hurled a knockback spell. Again Épiphanie blocked it with barely a mussed hair.

 _Flipendo Tria!_ She wordlessly conjured a mini tornado that spun him off the strip.

"Halt!" Professor Flitwick squeaked.

"This isn't going to end well," Hermione said as they watched.

"Not for all the gold in Gringotts," said Ron, shaking his head.

Nott angrily leapt back onto the strip.

 _Serpensortia!_

Several students leapt back when the large snake burst from his wand.

 _Vipera Evanesca!_ The snake vanished into smoke before it could utter a hiss.

 _Incarcerous!_ Épiphanie sidestepped the ropes that sprang forth and cast a stunner, which was deflected by Nott's shield.

They battled back and forth, but Nott was unable to press Épiphanie. She was far too quick, and she seemed to anticipate his moves, giving her the advantage and leaving him frustrated and desperate as the clock wound into the last minute of the bout.

"Sectumsempra!" Nott hissed slashing his wand vehemently. Draco and Harry leapt to their feet. The white light flashed against Épiphanie's shield. A look of shock flickered across her face that was quickly replaced by unrestrained fury.

The flames in the sconces and chandelier were suddenly extinguished, leaving the room illuminated only by the sunlight streaming through the windows.

"Oh, _Bloody Hell!_ " Draco swore.

"This is bad," said Hermione, grabbing Ron's hand.

 _Obscuro! Silencio! Expelliarmus! Incarcerous! Carpe Retractum!_ A blindfold appeared over Nott's eyes and his wand flew across the room, hitting the wall with a clatter as ropes flew from Épiphanie's wand, binding him tightly. He struggled mightily against his bonds, unable to utter a sound as he was dragged across the strip until Épiphanie was standing over him. The massive dragon skeleton that hung above them began to rattle violently as she glared down at him, her eyes narrow slits.

"Halt!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. Épiphanie pointed her wand at Nott.

"Halt! Épiphanie! Stand Down!" Professor Weasley commanded. He drew his wand.

Draco leapt onto the strip between Épiphanie and the struggling Theodore Nott.

"Épiphanie, _don't!_ Regardez-moi, ma Zirondelle! Épiphanie, _please!"_ he shook her. She looked at him and her eyes softened.

"Finite," she muttered, and stormed out of the room, leaving the astonished class staring after her.

That evening, every common room was abuzz with talk about the dueling practical in Professor Weasley's class. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat in a huddle beside the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.

"That was the spell from the Half-blood Prince's book wasn't it?" Ginny asked. "The one you used on Draco?"

"I wonder where Nott even learned it," Harry said.

"But the way she just went…mad," said Ron.

"He tried to _kill_ her, Ronald!" Hermione pointed out.

"Well, obviously anyone would be likely hacked off, but she went completely starkers!" he replied.

"Her magic was practically out of control, Hermione," said Harry. "Did you see the way Malfoy grabbed her? He's seen that in her before."

"You think so?" asked Ron.

"Definitely, Ron. Nott triggered some kind of emotional incident or memory. I'm sure of it."


	24. A Christmas Surprise

**A Christmas Surprise**

"So, Malfoy, got big plans for the holiday?" asked Ron. "Fancy dinners and all that?"

"I should think not. I've had quite enough of being forced to waltz with boring debutantes and their fat-arsed mothers. Beyond the New Year's Eve ball at the Sacred Twenty-Eight, I shall spend the holidays in seclusion at Antares Hall."

"You'll owl me over the holiday right?" Épiphanie asked as they stood on the platform at Hogsmeade station. Being on his own and having no one to meet him in London, Draco had decided to apparate directly to Antares Hall.

"Of course! Perhaps we'll get to see each other. Unless The Minister is the type who's given to lots of state dinners and the like, you may actually be free to spend some time with people you like!" he teased. She laughed. The train whistle blew and Draco pulled her into a deep kiss.

The Burrow was its usual cozy atmosphere full of family and close friends celebrating together on Christmas day. Kingsley and Épiphanie joined the Weasley family, stepping out of the flue shortly after breakfast. Mrs. Weasley enveloped them in warm hugs, pressing mugs of mulled cider into their hands and they joined the rest of the family and guests in the sitting room where Celestina Warbeck trilled out from the wireless and a pregnant Fleur tried not to appear uncomfortable. Percy thanked Kingsley for the recommendation to the Portkey Office in the Department of Magical Transportation and attempted to corner him into a business conversation. Kingsley genially moved away to talk with Charlie, who had made the rare decision to spend the holiday with his family. Épiphanie took a seat on the sofa, slightly overwhelmed by the activity.

"Happy Christmas, Milady!" George sat down beside her. "One hears that The Minister's daughter has done the impossible!"

"Is that so? And what, pray tell, would that be?"

"Taking on the Slytherin Quidditch team and snatching victory from the jaws of defeat—at the expense of The Boy Who Lived, no less! And let us not forget the _greatest_ feat of all…taming the dragon himself! Is it true? Did you _really_ manage to snare the heart of Draco Malfoy?"

"Indeed she did, George." Draco stepped gracefully from the fireplace and removed his cloak with a flourish, giving him a pointed look as he bowed to Mrs. Weasley and bestowed upon her a bottle of fine mead.

"Draco!" Épiphanie exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?" she asked, leaping to her feet.

"Joyeux Noël, ma Zirondelle." He gave her a chaste peck on the cheek, aware that he was under the scrutiny of every man in the room, not least of all Kingsley. "Imagine my disbelief to receive an owl from Ron inviting me." He presented her with a dainty box wrapped in silver and tied with a green velvet bow. "For you."

"Oh! I don't have your presents with me!"

"It is of no consequence. You weren't expecting me. You can give them to me another time." He lowered his voice. "Soon, I hope. Open it," he whispered." Épiphanie blushed and smiled self-consciously, aware that they were the center of attention.

"Merlin! He looks like Lucius!" Charlie whispered to Bill, who nodded.

"Relax, Kingsley" Molly chided, softly. "The box is too large for there to be a ring!"

Épiphanie unwrapped the box and opened it to reveal a bracelet with a charm in the shape of a dragonfly with pave-diamond wings and a tail encrusted with emeralds. Ginny, Hermione and Fleur murmured in admiration.

"Oh, my! That's goblin-made silver!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in awe.

"It's beautiful!" Épiphanie remarked. She held out her arm for him to place it on her wrist.

The day passed as with every Christmas at the Burrow. All of the Weasleys and Harry wore the new jumpers that Mrs. Weasley had knitted. There was the annual quidditch game, which Mrs. Weasley called after three hours of play with no one scoring, because dinner was ready and she insisted that it was _far_ too cold for them to remain outdoors any longer. They reluctantly trudged into the house and hung up wet cloaks, warming themselves as they sat elbow to elbow at the crowded table. Everyone ate too much, and a few had far too much to drink as well. There were conversations all around—politics, the newest brooms, the latest fashion, and the upcoming N.E.W.T.s. Épiphanie learned to play Exploding Snap, and Ron engaged Draco in an intense game of chess which Ron won handily. Harry took Draco's place at the chess board and Draco took a deep breath and approached The Minister, who stood near the kitchen chatting with Bill.

"Pardon me, Minister."

"Mr. Malfoy."

Bill moved away and Draco plunged ahead before he lost his nerve.

"I would like to inquire as to whether Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt has any prior engagements for New Year's Eve?"

"She has none, as far as I am aware."

"As I am sure you are aware, The Sacred Twenty-Eight will be holding their annual New Year's Eve Ball. I would be honored to be her escort, sir."

"I have not attended the Ball in quite some time, and have no plans to attend this year," Kingsley said. Draco bit the inside of his jaw, in an attempt to hide his disappointment. "However, if Épiphanie is willing, I shall allow her to attend. You understand of course that I hold you responsible for her safety." Kingsley cocked a brow.

"Absolutely, sir. Thank you."

Draco gave Kingsley a slight bow and crossed back through the living room where Épiphanie sat with the women, showing off her bracelet.

"Miss Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt."

"Why are you being so formal? Ooh! Is there a tiara to match the bracelet?" she teased, clapping her hands together.

"Alas, no, mademoiselle. I, erm—I wanted to ask if you would attend the New Year's Ball at The Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"What's the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Épiphanie asked.

"Dear, that's the designation given to the twenty-eight families which were still considered 'truly' pureblood by the 1930s," said Mrs. Weasley. "As a Shacklebolt, you are considered a member."

"Oh."

"The Weasleys are members as well," said Draco.

"Yes, but we really don't go in for all of that," Mrs. Weasley dismissed his statement.

"Your father has granted permission for me to escort you, if you are agreed."

"Well, okay. I suppose. Sounds like fun!"

"Brilliant!"

Draco floated back across the room.

"The Sacred Twenty-Eight Ball, huh?" Ron asked. "Check."

"It's the most exclusive event of the season," Draco replied.

"Really? Listen, Draco, what are you doing tomorrow around noon?" asked Harry, moving his chess piece.

"I have no plans that are set in stone." Draco shrugged curiously.

"Excellent. I was wondering if you might meet me at The Leaky Cauldron. I think I might have something of interest to you." Harry leaned to whisper in his ear.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"What will I do with it?"

"Checkmate! Now if you hens are done, Malfoy, there is a gift under the tree for you, my friend!" exclaimed Ron.

"Is that so?" Draco gave him a look of wary surprise. "Should I be worried? This _is_ the birthplace of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after all."

"Not at all!" Harry smirked, "Although we might have had a bit of help from George," he said as Ginny came forward levitating a large box, which she placed on table in front of the sofa.

Draco looked at Épiphanie, who shrugged. He tentatively pulled the ribbon that held the large box together and it fell open to reveal a large, ornately engraved, silver-colored bowl with a domed cover on a platform. Atop the cover, a snitch fluttered its wings. Two quidditch seekers flew in pursuit of a snitch around silver plaques that adorned the platform base.

"Hermione did the research and found a picture. George just helped alter the appearance to make it celebrate quidditch," said Ron.

Épiphanie began to laugh. "Do you get it?"

Draco stared at the trophy for a long moment and finally joined in her mirth. "It's an Iron Bowl!"


	25. Fight Like a Lady

_**Fight Like a Lady**_

 _**Portions of_ Épiphanie's _dialogue_ with Lucius are excerpted from The Art of War _by Sun Tzu_

"Wow! This room is like a dormitory!" Ginny exclaimed when she and Hermione arrived at the Shacklebolt Residence on New Year's Eve. Épiphanie was sending her owl Hatshepsut out of the window. Her cloak and gown hung upon a dressmaker's mannequin in a corner of the room.

"I _love_ the color!" Hermione remarked. "I can't believe you live in The Boltons! When I was small, I used to dream of having an apartment here. I'd pretend that I would take tea at Kensington Palace!"

"My dear, I have taken tea at Kensington Palace. I assure you, that it is quite the same whether the residence is called a palace or a cottage," said the elegant lady in the painting above the fireplace."

"Grandmother, these are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley."

"You've attended tea at Kensington Palace?" Hermione was awestruck.

"Don't be so surprised, my child. The Malfoys aren't the only wizards in the peerage."

"Wait—what?" Épiphanie looked up at the painting. Her grandmother gave an exasperated sigh, picking up her dog and stroking its head.

"That son of mine! Ever the modest one! My dear, you are The Lady Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt of Worthing! Since the Statute of Secrecy, few wizards give as much deference to rank as they do blood status. Of course, the Shacklebolts have been of the same position on blood status as we were on race relations in muggle society and have succeeded in carefully managing both to the greater good."

"I'm a—but, Grandmother, my parents were never married. Shouldn't that disqualify me?"

"My dear! We are wizards! The Attorney-General and House of Lords will be none the wiser."

"That explains how Kingsley was able to so easily attach himself to the Prime Minister during the war," said Hermione.

Ginny giggled. "And to think Kingsley's _Potterwatch_ codename was _Royal!_ "

"Is that why George keeps calling me 'My Lady'?" Épiphanie asked.

"George is pretty smart, and he may very well have discovered that fact, but I'm sure that was more him flirting with you." Ginny laughed.

"George? Flirting with me? But he's like _twenty_!"

"Well, I certainly didn't miss the look on Draco's face when he entered the Burrow on Christmas day and saw him sitting so close to you!" Hermione pointed out.

"And his tone of voice was _definitely_ the old Malfoy," said Ginny. "Who would ever have dreamed that a Malfoy would visit the Burrow?"

"Was he really that bad?" asked Épiphanie.

"Well, consider that he used to count Theodore Nott among his closest friends." Hermione went to the bookshelf and examined the titles there. "He was a right prat!"

The girls spent the remainder of the day gossiping about schoolmates and helping Épiphanie select a hairstyle that she liked. After a light luncheon with Kingsley, during which, the girls teased him about his royal connections, they retired to Épiphanie's suite to help her prepare for the evening.

Draco tucked the package that Harry had given him into a desk drawer and cast a spell to secure it. He was curious that his nerves were on edge, as he had attended a number of balls in his lifetime, including the Twenty-Eight. Although he had received an invitation, he wondered how the other guests might react to his appearance there. He also wondered if Lucius and his mother would be in attendance. The Twenty-Eight Ball had always been a particular favorite of Narcissa's. Kingsley had indicated that he had not been in attendance for quite some time and Draco couldn't remember ever seeing him, though he had attended the ball since he was twelve. How would they respond to the sight of The Minister's daughter on his arm?

Draco considered mixing up a Draught of Peace to calm his anxiety, but worried that in his current state of nervousness, he might overdo it. He certainly did not want to embarrass Épiphanie by failing to show up because he was in a deep sleep. He smiled and found himself relaxing a bit when he saw her owl, Hatshepsut, waiting patiently at the window, and opened it to let her in. Draco took the letter and offered the owl a treat as he ripped open the note.

 _I'm so excited! As promised, here is our floo address: 3 The Boltons, or you may simply say House of Shacklebolt. My father has assured me that either is appropriate. Gotta run! Hermione and Ginny will be here soon. Can't wait to see you again!_

The note fluttered to the floor as Draco stood, astonished. It couldn't be, could it? He quickly cast a disillusionment charm and apparated to the sidewalk across from the address she had given. As he stared up at the grand house, Hatshepsut flew overhead and descended beyond the rooftop. There was movement near one of the windows and he saw a flash of familiar red hair. Could that be Ginny Weasley? They had been living in the same street all this time! He wondered if the house had wards around it and received confirmation when he noticed a slight ripple in the air around the property as a muggle postman approached. He shook off a subtle shiver, and rang the bell at the gate. Kingsley himself emerged and received a small parcel. Draco silently swore when he saw that the former Auror had paused, scanning the area across the street for a moment before returning to the house, and wondered if he had been discovered. When The Minister disappeared inside, Draco apparated home.

He dressed carefully for the evening. His dress robes were charcoal grey velvet, heavily embellished with silver floss silk flower heads and foliage that trimmed the entire lapel and hem of the robe and also decorated the back of the robes from the waist to the hem; the turned cuffs and fabric covered buttons also displayed the same fine needlework. His waistcoat was ivory satin embroidered with rose pink leaf sprigs and trimmed in vines that rose up to the high choker collar. An ivory silk blouse, breeches in matching grey velvet and patent leather boots completed the ensemble. He carefully brushed his hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck and tied it with an ivory satin bow. After wanding away any lint or stray hair, he gave himself a once-over, collected his gloves, cloak and belongings and went to the fireplace.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I don't think I could have been able to dress without you guys!" Épiphanie exclaimed as Hermione fastened the buttons at the back of her gown. "This is like getting ready for a wedding!"

The gown was ice-gray Mikado fabric featuring a figure-flattering bodice with Austrian crystal beads that carried through to a two-inch beaded grosgrain ribbon sash. The bodice was completed with fitted gossamer sleeves that met the scalloped trim of the romantic sweetheart neckline and a dramatic keyhole lace back. The low back flowed into thick pleating, a full skirt with a sweep train, and matching crystal buttons that held it all together. Épiphanie wore crystal-tipped hairpins in the elaborately twisted updo that allowed her to show off her bare back. She slipped the dragonfly bracelet onto her wrist and pinned on a pair of diamond and emerald drop earrings that her father said had belonged to her grandmother.

"So how come we didn't know about this tattoo?" Ginny demanded.

"Very few people do," Épiphanie replied. They referred to the tattoo of her great-grandmother's vévé that covered the expanse of her back. The serpents appeared to undulate over her finely-toned muscles when she moved. "Maman doesn't even know about it."

"Well, you look amazing," Ginny gushed. "Madame Malkin certainly outdid herself.

"You look like the Snow Queen!" Hermione smiled, taking her cloak from the mannequin just as Topsy appeared to inform them that Draco had arrived. Her cloak was silvery dark grey velvet that shimmered when it caught the light. The hood, hems and dolman sleeves were trimmed in silver fox and the ensemble fastened with an ornate filigree silver clasp.

Draco and Kingsley stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, gazing up in awe as Épiphanie descended.

"My darling child! You look divine!" Kingsley breathed, taking her hand as she stepped into the foyer.

Draco stared speechlessly at her for several seconds until he heard Hermione clear her throat.

"You are absolutely stunning, mademoiselle!" He found his voice at last and stepped forward. "For you." He gave a bow as he opened a flat leather box and presented it to her.

Ginny and Hermione gasped behind her. Lying upon a bed of black velvet was an exquisite serpent necklace of goblin-made silver, encrusted with 100 carats of diamonds and two marquise emerald eyes. The choker-style necklace was designed to look as if the snake was curled about the wearer's neck, its tail coiling just behind the head. Épiphanie's eyes were wide and she let out a sigh as Draco draped it about her neck, the cool metal warming instantly against her skin.

"That is a rather extravagant piece," Kingsley commented.

"I understand, sir. Harry actually gave it to me. When he learned that I would be accompanying Épiphanie to the ball, he told me that he had discovered the necklace in the Black family vault and offered it."

"Did he now?" Kingsley pursed his lips.

"Mum wants pictures!" Ginny declared, holding up a camera. Draco and Épiphanie posed for several pictures before stating that they really should be going. He offered her his hand, but instead of turning to the fireplace, he stepped towards the door. Épiphanie gave him a bemused look. He winked and opened the door. At the curb stood a horse-drawn carriage with a liveried coachman.

"Milady." He escorted her to the coach and carefully helped her aboard. Once they were seated, he drew a fur throw over their legs and Épiphanie snuggled close to him with a giggle. The coach began to move forward and they waved to the group standing on the doorstep.

Presently, the coach came to a stop in front of a domed Italianate building with a mosaic frieze in a ribbon around the top of the wall.

"Isn't this the Royal Albert Hall?" Épiphanie asked.

"It is." Draco stepped out of the carriage and offered his and as she descended. He led her down a walkway above the south steps to a large monument with marble statues atop the base and looked around before touching his wand to a tablet on the base of the monument. The writing glowed gold and the tablet transformed itself into an archway. They stepped through the arch and down a grand marble staircase until they reached a set of silver doors. Two wizard footmen in golden robes bowed and pulled open the grand doors. Draco escorted her to a room to the side, where several women were gathered. An elf took her name and her cloak. She checked her hair and makeup and returned to Draco. From there, they approached a heavily draped grand arch. Draco presented his invitation to another footman and the drapes parted. The major-domo banged a tall staff and called out.

"The Right Honorable, The Viscount Salisbury and Lady Épiphanie Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt!"

Épiphanie placed her hand on Draco's and he conveyed her into the hall. Every eye was upon them as they crossed the floor and took up a position just as the orchestra struck up the opening notes of a waltz. He gave her a deep bow. She curtsied and stepped into his open frame. He held her gaze as they whirled about the candlelit room, oblivious to the open stares. Draco was in heaven. Never before had he felt as exhilarated as he did in this moment as they spun around the room, robes and skirts swirling about them. Épiphanie was as radiant as a princess and he longed to be her knight in shining armor. She smiled happily and he was lost in the emotion as the dance came to an end and he escorted her in the direction of the reception room.

"I should not be surprised that you waltz as well as you appear to do nearly everything else," he said.

"Well, in the United States, particularly in the south, any young lady of station will be presented at cotillion. As far back as the 18th century in New Orleans, some Creole girls were presented to society at quadroon balls. Since emancipation, African Americans have been presenting cotillions, usually for fund raising or scholarships—and we begin preparing as early as ninth grade—some even earlier."

"Ninth grade?"

"Let's see, I think that's the equivalent of…fourth year," she said. "Cotillions are presented by schools, private society organizations, cotillion clubs, fraternities and sororities. If a group has enough money to put behind it, they will host a cotillion. This was supposed to be my debut year. I'm certain that David will never speak to me again."

"And just _who_ is this David?" Draco asked, there was an edge of jealousy in his voice.

"He was the boy who was supposed to escort me to the Bleu Revue, presented by the Zeta Phi Beta Sorority. Don't worry, Mon Furet, he was only an acquaintance."

The major-domo banged his staff again and the drape at the arch parted.

"Shit!" Draco murmured. Épiphanie looked to the arch and knew before they were announced who the couple was. The white-blond ponytail was nearly identical to Draco's.

"The Earl of Salisbury and The Countess of Salisbury!"

The master of ceremonies called a quadrille. Draco squared his shoulders and steered Épiphanie back towards the floor in the hopes that the dance would begin before his parents had an opportunity to accost them. Such would not be the case. Draco was certain that Lucius had apparated across the room, so quickly were they upon them, preventing any opportunity to move on. Draco gave Narcissa a bow and introduced Épiphanie. Lucius gave a flourishing bow.

" _The_ _Minister's daughter!_ I daresay this is the first time a Shacklebolt has attended the ball since I was a boy. Well done, Draco." Lucius' simpering tone did not escape her notice. "Je dois dire que je suis surpris de vous voir, Draco. Ce demi-sang illégitime est le seul responsable de vous tourner contre les siècles de tradition magique? ( _I must say that I am surprised to see you in attendance, Draco. This illegitimate half-blood quadroon is the one responsible for turning you against centuries of wizarding tradition?_ )" he said.

Épiphanie fought the urge to purse her lips and adjusted her lace gloves as she spoke. "Seigneur Salisbury, vous constaterez que je suis descendu des gens libres de couleur, connu sous le nom de Louisiane Créole. Cette généalogie comprend certainement les sorcières de sang pur. Bien que je puisse avoir encouragé l'intérêt de Draco dans le monde non magique, toute décision qu'il a prise dans la poursuite de cet intérêt est purement la sienne. Ovide nous rappelle que ces choses qui ont été faites soit par nos pères, soit par nos ancêtres, et dans lesquelles nous n'avons pas eu de part, nous ne pouvons guère appeler les nôtres. ( _Lord Salisbury, you will find that I am descended from the free people of color known as Louisiana Creole. That genealogy most certainly includes pureblood witches. While I may have encouraged Draco's interest in the non-magical world, any decision that he has made in pursuing that interest is purely his own. Ovid reminds us that those things which were done either by our fathers, or ancestors, and in which we ourselves had no share, we can scarcely call our own._ )" She met his eyes with a complacent smile.

"If you will excuse us, Lucius—" Draco began, turning Épiphanie away.

"Narcissa, my dear. Is _that_ …your mother's necklace?" Lucius' eyes were focused upon Épiphanie's throat.

"Draco?" Narcissa's voice was soft and weary.

"Harry Potter discovered it in _his_ vault and offered it to me. I do believe that it becomes The Lady Épiphanie."

The master of ceremonies called another waltz.

"Draco, I believe your mother wishes to dance." He raised an eyebrow.

"As you are aware, I am Lady Épiphanie's escort. To abandon her would be most discourteous."

"Perhaps The Lady Épiphanie would honour me with a dance." The two were locked in a silent battle of wills, and Épiphanie was perhaps the only one aware of Narcissa's discomfort.

"I should be delighted. Draco, do escort The Lady Salisbury to the floor." She gave him a measured look. _Don't worry. I will_ TRY _to refrain from hexing your father, my love._

Draco suppressed an amused grin and turned to offer Narcissa his hand. Épiphanie took Lucius' hand and allowed him to lead her out to the dance floor as the music began.

"I must say, that you have certainly made your presence known in the wizarding world, My Lady." Lucius said as they made their way around the floor. He spun her and his eyes fell upon her tattoo.

"I find that it is a necessary burden, as the child of a public figure, to tolerate the glare of the paparazzi," Épiphanie replied.

"Indeed, and a burden it must be as a Slytherin when one's own father is a Gryffindor."

"Not in the least—except during quidditch." She smiled. Lucius chuckled.

"Ah yes, nearly a millennia of tradition devastated by one witch."

"Devastated? I think not, sir, considering the outcome of the last Slytherin versus Gryffindor match. Mr. Potter may have taken the snitch, but we took the victory."

"That is a rather extraordinary mark upon your back, My Lady." Lucius baited the hook.

"It is. And a powerful mark of protection." She gave him a pointed look.

"I seem to recall its connection to a particularly formidable witch. One who was known to have held an entire city in her hands."

"As she is canonized by its citizens today."

"Legend tells of an ebony wand made especially for her…"

"Does it?"

"It was created in the spirit of the caduceus. The one who wields such a wand would be most powerful indeed, and yet she refused it."

"My Lord, I was taught that the most difficult things in the world must be done while they are still easy, the greatest things in the world must be done while they are still small. For this reason the most powerful wizards never do what is great, and this is why they can achieve that greatness."

"Draco, my love. I have missed you so." Narcissa searched her son's face as if she would never see it again.

"I have missed you as well, Mother. You _are_ welcome at Antares Hall whenever you wish to visit. You may _stay_ if you like." He gave her a measured look with his last words.

"Draco—" she began.

"I don't trust him, Mother. He's still scheming as ever."

"I _know_ him, Draco."

"Very well. My offer shall remain open." He glanced briefly at Épiphanie and Lucius, moving in counterpoint to their own circuit of the floor.

"I have never seen you look upon any young lady as you do this girl," Narcissa remarked.

"She's unlike any other girl I have ever known. She is amazing, Mother, intelligent, compassionate, perceptive, and beautiful. Her magic is…She has held me in thrall from the moment I first laid eyes upon her. It is as if she has imprinted herself upon my soul." Draco sighed.

"My son!" Narcissa looked into Draco's eyes. " _You're in love_."

"I am, Mother. I am."

They danced another waltz and a quadrille before the master of ceremonies informed the gathering that the hour was nearly upon them. Draco gratefully escorted his mother to where Épiphanie stood with Lucius.

"Draco, I must say that Lady Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt's repartee is most certainly worthy of a Slytherin. She is as beautiful as she is well-spoken."

"Really, Lucius. I have spent my entire life with the very model of a worthy Slytherin lady." He smiled at his mother. "How could you think I would deign to consort with anyone less."

"Ladies and Gentlemen! The hour is upon us! Please join me in raising our wands."

They joined in raising their wands as the master of ceremonies counted the final seconds to midnight and the room darkened. A shower of colorful sparks sprang forth from wands around the room and the wizards gazed up at the spectacle. There were two however, whose eyes rested on something else. Narcissa warily gazed upon a frighteningly familiar expression in her husband's eyes. Lucius stared in covetous wonder at the entwined serpents of Épiphanie's wand.


	26. Intermezzo

_**Intermezzo**_

"Draco, my house is on the other side of the park," said Épiphanie, as the carriage came to a stop in front of 25 The Boltons, and the coachman stepped down to open the door. Draco gave her a wink and stepped down to the sidewalk, turning back to offer his hand. "Okay, what are you up to, Ferret? Is this another party?"

"When I received your owl this afternoon, I discovered a most wonderful tidbit of information about Antares Hall," he said, opening the gate and leading her into a garden that Épiphanie was sure would be quite lush once summer arrived. He pointed his wand and the grand door of the house swept open.

" _This_ _is your house?_ " Épiphanie gasped.

"Welcome to Antares Hall, Ma Zirondelle."

Épiphanie stepped into the entrance hall and gazed around in disbelief. "All this time, and we have only been separated by a park. You really didn't know that we were on the opposite crescent?"

"No idea at all," he replied, leading her to the drawing room. He waved his wand and the stereo came to life with soft music. A house elf appeared with champagne in a bucket of ice. Draco took her cloak, removing his own as well, and offered her one of the crystal flutes. "I had never visited the house until I took ownership just before start of term."

"And you bought a stereo, I see. Do you have a television too?" She took a seat on the Chesterfield, carefully arranging her skirts.

"Three stereos, but no television—it didn't seem practical, given that I would be away at school for most of the year." He took her glass, setting it aside with his own and joined her, taking her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers. He reveled in the taste of her and was left with a heady feeling as if he'd just imbibed an entire flagon of mead.

"I love you so much, Épiphanie. You make me want to be a better man," he whispered. "My heart has longed to sing a song, but it was incomplete until your heart whispered to mine." He placed a line of kisses along her jaw.

"Plato says those who wish to sing always find a song," Epiphanie murmured. She let her head fall back as Draco kissed along the curve of her neck and brushed his lips over her collarbone, eliciting a sigh. She clung to him desperately, her hands sliding over the silky fabric of his waistcoat.

Draco pressed her into the sofa, his passion mounting as he continued to kiss her hungrily. His fingertips caressed the flesh at the neckline of her gown. Épiphanie could feel his nature rise. She was torn. Her body was responding in acquiescence, but her mind was telling her to be cautious.

"Draco—"

"I love you so much, Épiphanie," he whispered between kisses.

"Draco?"

"I want to know you." He began to work the buttons at the nape of her neck.

"Draco, please!" She grabbed his wrists.

Draco snapped himself back into the present and look down at Épiphanie's apprehensive expression.

"I—you look frightened."

"I just—I mean—I don't want us to get into you know— _trouble_ ," she murmured. Draco furrowed his brow for a moment until the realization hit him He smiled and tweaked her nose.

"There's a spell for that!" he whispered wickedly.

"Oh." Épiphanie let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure that she would be able to explain muggle contraception to him.

Draco carried her to his suite of rooms and covered her in kisses as he took her into his bed, carefully uttering an incantation of protection. Épiphanie still wore a look of trepidation when he came to her.

"Have you ever—" he began. She shook her head no. "Please don't be afraid, Ma Zirondelle," he whispered. "I would give my life before hurting you. I promise."

Épiphanie relaxed into him and allowed the first tantalizing taste of physical love to envelop her. Draco was exceedingly gentle and their passion filled the room. She was drawn into the abyss of ecstasy as he plunged deeply into her, merging their bodies and hearts. Draco was lost in an emotion that felt like falling. If death could be like this moment, he reasoned that he would wish to die a thousand deaths.

Later, Épiphanie lay with her head on Draco's chest, his arm cradling her protectively. Her fingers lightly traced one of the scars that marked his pale skin. She could hear his heart beating against his ribcage.

"Draco," she whispered.

"Yes, my love."

"You promise to love me until the day that you are me and I am you?"

"Always."

As much as Draco wanted to wake up with Épiphanie in his arms, he wasn't willing to risk the ire of The Minister of Magic for the privilege. Draco was well acquainted with Kingsley's dueling abilities. He reluctantly helped Épiphanie back into her gown and cloak and took her hand. Rather than take the floo, Draco sought to prolong their time together by walking hand-in-hand through the communal garden that separated the two crescents of The Boltons. As he had expected, Kingsley was seated beside the fireplace when they entered The Minister's residence. He set aside a glass of scotch and closed the book he appeared to be reading.

"Minister, Happy New Year." Draco gave a slight bow.

"Happy New Year, Papa."

"I trust the ball was enjoyable?" he asked.

"Very! Now, I'm exhausted. If you'll excuse me, I'll say goodnight." She gave her father a peck on the cheek and turned to Draco. He kissed her fingers and she mouthed "I love you." Before sweeping up the staircase.

Kingsley stood, regarding Draco for a moment. Draco worried his lower lip as he waited for The Minister to speak.

"I suppose that I owe you a small debt of gratitude," Kingsley said at last.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco was confused. Why was Kingsley thanking him?

"Tonight is the first time she called me _Papa._ " He shook Draco's hand. "Happy New Year Mr. Malfoy."


	27. Muggle Studies Field Trip

_**Muggle Studies Field Trip**_

 _**portions of Harry and Draco's conversations at Antares Hall excerpted from_ _The Art of War_ _by Sun Tzu._

 _**I_ KNOW _that_ _Episode I_ _wasn't released until the summer of 1999, but it just worked for my story, so allow me a bit of artistic latitude._

"Fancy going into the city and spend the day together? —Le Furet"

"Sure! I'll be over in half an hour. —La Zirondelle" Épiphanie penned a reply and sent Draco's owl off with it just as Patches appeared and announced that she had visitors. Hermione and Ginny burst into the room less than a minute later, shoving the New Year's Day edition Prophet into her face.

 _Minister's Daughter Stuns at Sacred Twenty-Eight Gala!_ Épiphanie was sure that the headline was actually flashing above photos of her dancing with Draco and Lucius.

"Don't remind me! Papa had this _look_ when he saw it yesterday. He didn't say anything, and frankly, I was afraid to ask. Needless to say, that particular issue quickly found its way into the fire."

"You _actually_ danced with Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione asked, despite the large photo of her waltzing around the dance floor right in front of her.

"Girl, yes! Ugh! That's after the man had the _nerve_ to insult me!"

"No!"

"I kid you not! He called me a half-blood quadroon—in French, no less—apparently assuming that I wouldn't know the language."

"What's a quadroon?" asked Ginny.

"During slavery, it was a classification used to identify blacks who had one-fourth African ancestry. There was also the term octoroon, and mulatto, meaning one-eighth and one half, respectively. The more "European blood" you had, the more worthy you were of respect from whites. Octoroons and Quadroons generally worked as house servants, and were the ones that abolitionists would trot out in their campaigns to convince Northerners of their worthiness of emancipation because they could so easily pass for white. Sound familiar?"

"That sounds like… _blood purity_! In muggle society?" Ginny was astounded.

"There is an element of it that still exists in muggle society to this day. Even among blacks, having light skin is considered preferable to being dark. Many black Creoles have mixed race ancestry, and we prefer that term—a point that I drove home to him in _perfect French,_ I might add." Épiphanie snapped her fingers twice to emphasize her words, and Hermione and Ginny applauded. "Anyway, Draco takes my hand to lead me away from them when Lucius says 'Narcissa, my dear, is that"—dramatic pause—"your _mother's_ necklace?' "

"No way!"

"Oh, but no, honey! Draco shut it _down_ , do you hear me? He turns to Lucius and says. _'Harry Potter_ discovered it in _his_ vault.' So that's when Lucius all but manipulated him into dancing with his mother."

"He knew Draco would never refuse Narcissa," said Hermione.

"Clearly. At any rate, I handled Lucius. I _am_ a Slytherin after all—Oh! Girls, newsflash! Guess who lives on the other side of the gardens?"

Ginny and Hermione looked at her curiously. She grinned wickedly.

"Really? Draco Malfoy in a muggle neighborhood?" asked Ginny.

"I know, right? I was headed over in a few minutes. You guys should come with."

"Well, Harry and Ron are here too. They're downstairs talking with Kingsley."

"Awesome! We're going into the city. Hermione, you and Harry and I can give Ron, Ginny and Draco a _real_ muggle studies field trip!"

The girls collected Ron and Harry and Épiphanie informed Kingsley that they were going into the city.

Draco was surprised to find Ginny and the Golden Trio accompanying Épiphanie when he opened the door, but welcomed them genially. He was still finding his comfort zone with Harry and Ron, but he knew that they were Épiphanie's friends and he wanted to get to know them in the same way. The group ensured him that they would not divulge to Kingsley that his daughter's suitor lived within spitting distance.

"Although, he likely already knows," Ron pointed out. Hermione pinched him. "What? He _was_ an Auror after all. You don't think they know of every homeowner in The Minister's neighborhood?" Hermione pinched him again.

The couples headed to the Underground and Harry, Hermione and Épiphanie assured Draco, Ginny and Ron that it wasn't much different than riding the Express to school.

"You know, I could have hired a car," said Draco.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" teased Harry.

"I lost it in America," Draco frowned, edging away from a portly and rather aromatic gentleman who seemed to think that his shoulder was a pillow.

"This is nothing compared to the New York City subway," said Épiphanie.

"Well, I'm with Draco," said Ron. "This is like someone stuffed the Express inside a floo."

The group emerged from the underground and stopped in a small café for lunch.

"So, you can pay for things with these little drawings?" asked Ginny, examining the pound note that Harry received in change after paying for their meal.

"Well, no. It's more like a certificate that represents that you have some worth and can afford an item or service. It used to represent its worth in gold or silver. It's easier to carry around than coins."

After lunch, the motley band made their way to the cinema where the young witches and wizards were enthralled and a bit disturbed by the projected images on the giant screen and the intriguing story portrayed in the movie _Star Wars: Episode I._

"Did anyone else find something in that story to be eerily familiar?" asked Ron.

"The Force? The Dark Side?" added Draco.

"The Chosen One?" said Ginny. The three purebloods paused to look at Harry.

"Except one, thing y'all. This movie is a prequel. The first one came out like four or five years before I was born. Haven't you seen it on video, Hermione?" Épiphanie asked.

"I'd heard of the film, but I've never seen any of them. I never particularly liked science-fiction.

"Harry?"

"The Dursleys never took me to the cinema or allowed me to watch videos. I've never even heard of these films." He looked a bit ill.

"You don't think some wizard made these films and changed the story?"

"Anything is possible. Except the prophecy wasn't made until Harry had already been born. That was after the first film was released, right?" Hermione pointed out.

"Exactly. I'm telling you guys, it's just a coincidence." Épiphanie insisted.

"So…what happens to that character Anakin?" Ron asked.

"Oh, he goes over to the Dark Side," she said. "Come on, let's go shopping!" Épiphanie skipped off, unaware that her stunned friends had not yet moved.

The group's disquiet was quickly extinguished as they explored a shopping center to introduce Ginny and Ron to trendy clothes and the record store for popular music, R&B, and Hip-Hop. Ginny was drawn to the driving beats of Dancehall Reggae, while Ron was instantly enamored with West Coast Rap. Hermione thought that Épiphanie and Draco spent an obscene amount of money on CDs.

"What's a drop top?" Ron asked.

"A convertible automobile. Some cars have roofs that can either be removed or folded back so that the driver and passengers can enjoy the fresh air," said Épiphanie.

Next came a prolonged visit to a bookseller, where Hermione was gratified to find Draco poring over the myriad titles and subjects.

"Surely you haven't spent all this time, only to come away with three titles!" Draco declared. He shifted the stack of books in his hands.

"Not all of us have unlimited financial resources, Draco. I have an allowance of fifty quid a month, which is generous by muggle standards."

"Come on, have a go," he encouraged, gesturing back to the stacks of books. "My treat."

"Really, buy whatever I want?" Hermione goggled at him. He winked.

"What good is wealth if you can't occasionally share it with those you consider friends?"

By the time they left the store, much to the delight of their bored companions, Draco and Hermione had equally large bundles of books.

Late in the afternoon, they returned to Antares Hall where Épiphanie showed the girls her favorite dance moves and the boys gathered at the chess table in the drawing room.

"So what's with the photo of Épiphanie dancing with Lucius?" asked Harry when the girls were out of earshot. "I thought you'd stopped speaking."

"We did."

"Then, what gives?" asked Ron, moving his knight.

"I don't know if he's up to something or just trying to keep me off balance, honestly. He was his usual _charming_ self. However, he plainly underestimated The Lady Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt."

"How so?" asked Harry.

"Lucius assumes that anyone he deems beneath him lacks a certain skill set. He addressed me in French, thinking that she would not understand the conversation. I shall refrain from repeating the sobriquet he used to describe her, but I'm sure you get the gist. At any rate, it was a waste of his breath, because before I could utter a word of response, she neatly reproached him, making it clear that not only were his assumptions inaccurate, but she was more than capable of understanding and articulating herself in more than one language. Check."

"Oh, ho! Well done!" exclaimed Harry.

"But how did he end up waltzing with her?" asked Ron.

"Well, you know, he's never one to give up easily. He had to get her alone in the hopes of gaining the upper-hand. I don't know what he said to her, but she seemed unperturbed. When it was over, he complimented her Slytherin repartee. I should assume that meant that he failed to unsettle her. Besides, knowing Lucius _and_ Épiphanie as I do, if he had truly touched a nerve, he would have been lying mortally wounded in the middle of the hall."

"Check. She doesn't take well to insult, does she?" Ron said.

"No, it's something else. She's perfectly fine with insult. After all, _Weaselby_ ," He winked at Ron to show he was only jesting to make his point. "There is no one better with the cutting remark than a Slytherin. I've personally built a reputation upon it, as you well know. In fact, was a verbal joust over breakfast that resulted in Blaise drawing his wand upon her on the first day of classes. Nott hates her for much the same reason. Although I think Pansy dislikes her on principle—that and the fact that her ever-expanding arse can't compete with those dangerous curves." He looked across the room to where the girls were dancing. The music changed to a slow and heavy reggae beat.

"Checkmate. Merlin, man! You're staring at her like a vampire who hasn't had blood in months!" At Ron's declaration, a flush heated Draco's face. Épiphanie twisted and swayed her hips seductively as she glided across the room and took him by the hands.

"Enough of this! A lady should never be on the dancefloor alone. Come on, girls! Get your man and show him what you're working with!" Hermione and Ginny grabbed Ron and Harry and began to dance, but none could match The Minister's daughter. She pulled Draco to his feet and placed his hands in frame about her hips. "Come on, like this. Bend your knees. Good, now rock to the beat…yeah, like that. Keep going." Épiphanie turned her back to him and bent at the waist, arching and bowing her back as she alternated bending her knees.

Harry and Ron glanced at one another and then back at the couple moving in concert. Épiphanie stood up and leaned her back gently against Draco's chest, undulating like a serpent, one hand in the air above her, the other reached back to caress the nape of his neck. He gradually relaxed into her moves, until they began to move almost as one. He wrapped his arm around her, his palm spread against her abdomen, just above the waistband of her jeans.

"Merlin!" Draco sighed and brushed his lips over the side of her neck as they danced. He felt faint with arousal and fell into a nearby chair. Épiphanie straddled him and grabbed the back of the chair, grinding her hips into his.

"Oh, my god! Is she—" Hermione whispered. Ron diverted her attention with a kiss. Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny looked on in fascination.

Draco closed his eyes and struggled against his growing physical excitement. He knew that if he looked into Épiphanie's eyes, he would lose all control. As it was, he was barely hanging on, and he bit back a moan, uttering a breathless sigh as he lifted his hips towards hers. His head fell back and she brushed her lips over his throat. Draco could stand it no more and shuddered with release, pulling her to him and crushing his lips to hers in an effort to stifle the scream that threatened to escape his throat.

"Bloody, hell!" Ginny quietly exclaimed. "I've got to get one of these stereo thingys."

"I never thought I'd be jealous of Malfoy," Harry murmured.

Épiphanie silently cast a spell to put them to rights and curled into his lap. Draco stared at her beneath eyelids heavy with consummation. He was vaguely aware that she had slain him right under the gaze of his once sworn enemies, but he didn't care. They had always had each other; he'd never had the love of another until now.

"Is that a swimming pool?" Hermione asked when the group headed down to the lower level to choose a bottle of wine from the cellar for dinner. They looked across the kitchen through a wall of windows at the cella natatorium with its shimmering baths.

"It is. I haven't inaugurated it yet. The temperature is perfect though, even for the season."

"Why don't we break it in?" suggested Épiphanie.

"Because we haven't got bathing suits," Ron pointed out.

"What's the point of being wizards if we can't transfigure our underthings into swimwear?" Harry remarked, a wicked grin on his face.

Minutes later, the boys stood staring with appreciation at the three girls' bikini suits when they emerged from the dressing rooms. They leapt into the pool with a series of whoops and commenced to splashing one another with abandon.

"Swimming indoors in the middle of winter!" Hermione exclaimed. "I've always wanted to do that!" She sat on a bench with Ginny and Épiphanie watching Harry, Ron, and Draco battling back and forth with a colorful, quaffle-sized ball, attempting to put it into nets that they had conjured on each end of the pool. Harry said it was called water polo—although they really needed more players for a proper game. "I think I'd like to check out the sauna," she said, leaving them.

"Épiphanie?" Ginny asked as they watched.

"Hm?" She squeezed water from her saturated braid.

"Have you—I mean, the way you—well, that was _some_ dancing you did."

"Well, muggle styles of music and dancing are probably a bit different from what you're used to," Épiphanie said. "I think I might have gone a little too far with the lap dance, but sometimes I really get caught up in the beat, and Draco, just… _does_ something to me when he touches me."

"Are you—well—have you and Draco…"

"Did we hook up?" Ginny nodded, her cheeks red. Épiphanie nodded guiltily. "It was my first time."

"After the ball?" Ginny's eyes were big. Épiphanie nodded and pulled her knees up to her chin. "Did you…want to?"

"I—I don't know, really. It basically just sort of happened."

"Wow! Harry keeps hinting that maybe he'd like to…you know, but…"

"I get it. I was pretty terrified, to be honest. Draco was exceedingly gentle though. It was heaven, Ginny. The only feeling that compares to it is flying!" She sighed and watched the boys swimming.

Harry and Draco joined them a few minutes later, and Ron joined Hermione in the hammam. Ginny curled into Harry and Draco lay with his head in Épiphanie's lap, her fingers tracing the pale lines that crisscrossed his chest.

"I can't begin to imagine how devastating that war must have been," she said. "How did you get these scars?" Draco took her hand and kissed it. He let out a sigh, and Harry coughed uncomfortably.

"Sectumsempra." Draco's voice was quiet and flat.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It was me."

Épiphanie whipped her head around to stare at Harry. "What did you say?"

"I cast the spell."

"Voldemort had ordered me to assassinate Professor Dumbledore. It was a suicide mission, meant to punish Lucius for destroying Harry's prophecy." He sighed again.

"Draco and I hated each other with a passion, and I suspected that he was up to something. I confronted him, and we dueled. I had read of the spell in an old textbook owned by Professor Snape. I had no idea that it could kill him."

"My God!" Épiphanie gasped.

"To be perfectly honest, once I overcame the initial shock of being hit with the spell, I actually _wished_ for death to take me."

"Malfoy—Draco, I—" Harry began.

"Harry, the war is over. We all have our burdens to bear and experiences to take away. Who wishes to fight must first count the cost." He swept his arm to indicate all of them. "Who does not know the evils of war cannot appreciate its benefits."

Draco settled into the empty train compartment, and having stowed his belongings, sat down to await Épiphanie, opening one of the books he'd purchased when the group shopped a few days before. It was titled _Up From Slavery_ , and when he'd first begun to read the autobiography the night before, he'd found himself fascinated by the writer's observations, and only weariness combined with the late hour forced him to put it down.

 _"_ _Now, whenever I hear any one advocating measures that are meant to curtail the development of another, I pity the individual who would do this. I know that the one who makes this mistake does so because of his own lack of opportunity for the highest kind of growth. I pity him because I know that he is trying to stop the progress of the world, and because I know that in time the development and the ceaseless advance of humanity will make him ashamed of his weak and narrow position. One might as well try to stop the progress of a mighty railroad train by throwing his body across the track, as to try to stop the growth of the world in the direction of giving mankind more intelligence, more culture, more skill, more liberty, and in the direction of extending more sympathy and more brotherly kindness._ "

Draco considered this observation for a moment, and wondered what of that same idea could have been applied to those by whom he'd been surrounded for so much of his life. Is this why he had previously held Harry, Hermione, Ron, and the others in such low regard? He'd certainly been taught that they, because of their blood status, wealth or attitude towards blood status, were beneath him. Perhaps, however, there was more to it. Hermione was undeniably a scholar and certainly no slouch with a wand. Harry possessed the fame that Draco had so desperately wanted for himself, and his ability to survive insurmountable obstacles was fearsome. As for Ron Weasley, there was the ability to feel contentment in spite of the lack of wealth and privilege, but perchance the unconditional love of a family. It was real, not an obligation. Draco was certain of his mother's abiding love, but it was never affectionate and effusive in the way he had seen Mrs. Weasley and her husband express themselves towards their children. That they were willing to welcome him into their home in spite of the disdainful and mean-spirited way that he and his family had treated them over the years was a testament to the depth of their true hearts. Yes, Draco was sure of it, he had been as jealous as he had been misguided about the people he now counted as friends.

Draco was abruptly jarred from his musings when the compartment door slammed open and a newspaper hit him in the face.

"What the hell?" Draco leapt to his feet, batting away the paper and drawing his wand. "Pansy, have you gone fucking mad?"

"Consider yourself fortunate that I haven't slapped you with a stinging jinx, Draco Malfoy!" she shrieked, her pug-like face screwed up in disgust. "You said that you were no longer speaking to your father, yet here you both are on the front page of the Daily Prophet, waltzing with The Minister's daughter! It's bad enough that you stood me up at your parents' banquet, but this is too much!" A few passing students lingered about the compartment's door, watching with interest. Draco flicked his wand, closing the hatch and lowering the shades.

"Pansy, I suggest you calm down, right now. You don't know—"

"I was _there_ , Draco! I saw you talking with them! I saw him ask her to dance. If you'd bothered to do anything other than fawn over that American, you'd have noticed."

"Who couldn't notice your fat arse, Pansy! It's grown so wide in the last several months!" he retorted.

"When I first saw you all cozy with her, I simply figured that you were having a go at The Minister's daughter. Perhaps you were on your habit of securing bragging rights to a little slap and tickle—"

"Ugh! So crude!" he scoffed.

"But then, spending time with _Potter_ and his lot—what are you up to, Draco? Are you hoping that The Minister will agree to a match? Aiming a bit above your station aren't you?" she snarled hatefully.

"Or maybe I've realized I'd previously been aiming a bit too low," Draco bit back.

"You unbelievable _bastard!_ " Pansy whipped out her wand, but Draco had his under her chin before she could utter another word.

"Draco, no!" Épiphanie appeared in the door, her wand pointed. "She's very fragile right now. Even the mildest hex could cause her serious harm." She looked pointedly at Pansy as she spoke. "Put your wand away, boo-boo. What you _need_ to do is find another compartment and put your feet up. They look awfully swollen."

Pansy lowered her wand, but she glared at Épiphanie through eyes that were slits. "Bint!"

"That's okay. I'll be that, but if I were _you_ , I'd stay away from high fat and salty foods for the next few weeks. Mmkay?" Épiphanie gave her a condescending wink and stepped aside, looking meaningfully at the compartment door to let Pansy know that the conversation was done. Pansy stared at the other witch for a moment. Épiphanie gave her an appraising look, and her expression turned soft, almost like pity. Pansy sniffled and bit her quivering lip. She tugged at her robes and rushed from the compartment.

"Did you _seriously_ just point your wand at _me_?" Draco gave her an offended look.

"I sure did, baby. I knew you wouldn't actually hex her in such close quarters, but I wasn't so sure that you wouldn't try to physically disarm her, and I know your physical strength. She doesn't." Épiphanie stowed her belongings overhead.

"What makes you think Pansy's fragile anyway? Right now, she looks like she could play beater for Bulgaria." Draco vanished the newspaper and picked up his book before sitting down and pulling Épiphanie into his arms "I think you are aware of my powers of perception, love. She's going through a pretty difficult situation right now, and clearly it's exacerbated by some lingering affection she has for you."

"Épiphanie, that's all in the past. I haven't—"

"Really, Draco? I look like I'm worried about all that?" She waved her hand dismissively.

"But I just—" he began, but Épiphanie turned to him then, covering his lips with her finger.

"If I cast a Langlock jinx, you won't be able to kiss me."

Draco took the hint and let the matter drop, obliging her with a passionate kiss. They curled into one another, lulled by the gentle rocking of the train into an intimate silence, untroubled by the need to speak. After some time had passed, Draco tightened his embrace around Épiphanie and kissed the top of her head.

"There's something that has been on my mind, love. I have been loathed to ask, but I admit to more than a passing curiosity."

"What's that?"

"Last term, when those boys attacked the Ravenclaw girl, and in Weasley's practical when you dueled Nott. You seemed to go to another place. Like something triggered a memory."

"Draco—" she sighed.

"Ma cher, I just—both Flitwick and Weasley ordered you to stand down. I honestly thought that you intended to kill Nott."

"Draco, I really don't want to talk about it. You wouldn't—"

"Dragonfly, we all have demons. I'm deeply ashamed of the things I have done. I would never think less of you for something you'd done in your past. I love you. Trust me, please."

"I do trust you, mon cher. I just—I can't." A tear fell from her eye.

"S'il te plaît, ne pleure pas, ma chérie. I'll be there to catch you when you fall."


	28. Deja vu

_**Deja vu**_

The new term began with much less fanfare than the last. O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. level students were reminded of the importance of their exams and cautioned to use their time wisely. Professors wasted no time in driving this point home with what felt to the students like mountains of homework and essays. The library and common rooms of each house were soon littered with abandoned parchments as overwhelmed students scratched out and corrected, and scratched out and corrected again, only to find their work smeared by frustrated tears.

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose as he left the library one early February evening when he was accosted by Pansy Parkinson.

"Draco, wait!" she called as he passed without comment.

"What is it, Pansy? I still have a foot of parchment to write for transfiguration and that shrew, Pince, wouldn't loan me the book I needed most. I'm honestly not in the mood for any more of your drama."

"I just—I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"As well you should be." He crossed his arms. He thought he detected a movement along the wall for a moment and blinked several times, dismissing it as having done too much reading. He focused on Pansy.

"I just—why, Draco? Our families have known each other for generations. I thought there was—"

"You thought there was what, Pansy? We were in the middle of a war! Malfoy Manor was besieged by Death Eaters. I had no idea whether my mother was still alive. It was an escape—that's it! I shouldn't have done it, but I was dying inside. I'll admit, after a time, I dared hope we could become something, but then you came into the common room that night with Crabbe and Flint—you changed. I asked you what was wrong and you wouldn't tell me! _Everything_ was going wrong. Dreams of a future like the ones we had when we were little meant nothing anymore." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I realize now that I hurt you, but we can't change the past, and we can't ignore what happened either." Draco took her hand. "You'll always be special to me, Pansy. We grew up together, and I can never throw that away. I'm trying to be a new person. Everyone thinks the worst of Slytherins—that we are all mean-spirited and dark. I read in a book recently that great men cultivate love, and that only little men cherish a spirit of hatred. When have you ever known me to aspire to anything but greatness?" He smiled at her, and placed a light kiss on her cheek. She smiled at him, but Draco thought he detected a hint of remorse behind her eyes before she turned and walked away, waddling a bit, as she left him standing in the corridor. He continued on, but was suddenly struck with the need to be with Épiphanie. He was certain that she would be in their favorite contemplative spot, smoking. He turned away from the dungeons and headed off to find her.

Hermione crossed the Entrance Hall, so engrossed in reviewing her notes as she walked that she suddenly collided with another person, her parchments scattering around her.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Professor!" she apologized upon realizing that she'd nearly bowled over the Divination professor, Sybil Trelawney. Hermione never particularly cared for the strange woman with the thick glasses, or the subject that she taught, and was eager to move on when she noticed that the woman appeared dazed. Hermione abandoned her dropped parchments and looked more closely at the teacher. "Professor Trelawney? Are you ill?"

The woman suddenly gripped Hermione's wrist painfully, and began to speak, her voice coming out in a strange rasp.

" _Beware the Servant who seeks the Caduceus wand, for upon this very night he will send a false dragon to seduce the Descendant of the Queen on the very tower where the elder wand fell. In order to protect the Descendant from the ones who would consume her very essence and stop the Servant raising a new army from the Cities of the Dead, the True Dragon must acknowledge his own protector on the night that the Ordinary Time draws to a close, and force the Servant destroy himself!_ "

The professor let out a gasp and blinked several times, looking around. "Oh, my dear! I'm terribly sorry! I must watch my step in the future!" She waved her wand and Hermione's scattered parchments leapt into her hands. "Here you are, dear. Have a good night!"

Before Hermione could speak, the woman continued down the corridor.

"But—wait, Professor, I—What just happened?" She stood there a moment, replaying the moment in her head, when Harry approached.

"Alright, 'Mione?" he asked. "You look stricken."

"I just—Harry, do you remember the prophecy Trelawney made to you in third year?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Well, I just had the strangest encounter with her just now." Hermione recounted their collision and the professor's odd behavior and tone of voice. She repeated what the woman had told her.

"Hermione are you _certain_ that's what she said?"

"Absolutely! Who is the descendant of the queen? There's no wizards in the Royal Family, could there be? No, but why do those references sound so familiar? The caduceus—that's the rod of Hermes, two serpents entwined about a staff—"

"Wait a minute, Hermione—what did you say? Caduceus wand—two snakes entwined about a staff. We _know_ that wand!"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Épiphanie's wand is two snakes entwined about a rod!"

"Yes! And her ancestor, Marie Laveau is called the Queen of Vaudou! It has to be Épiphanie! What was the rest of it? Something about a false dragon and a true dragon?" he asked.

"Norbert? No—could it possibly be?"

"Draco!"

"Yes?" Draco emerged from the corridor, digging through his satchel for his wand. "I know it was there!" he muttered to himself. "And why, pray tell, am I the subject of such a spirited conversation?" he inquired, still searching for his wand as he approached the pair.

"Draco? Have you ever heard Épiphanie's wand referred to as the caduceus wand?" Hermione asked.

"No. I suppose it does resemble a caduceus though. Right now, I'm more concerned with where my _own_ wand is. I've never mislaid it before! Merlin, I hope it isn't in the library! That pinched bat has closed by now and she'll never let me in! Why are you asking about Épiphanie's wand."

"Well, I know it will sound crazy, but I think Professor Trelawney shared a prophecy about Épiphanie and you," Harry said. Draco laughed heartily.

"Trelawney? Right, Harry! And I have a picture of Snape in a tiara!"

"Draco, don't forget that Trelawney accurately prophesied two pivotal events in the war—not the least of which was the downfall of Tom Riddle!" Hermione protested. "I certainly don't hold divination in high regard either, but I have to admit, there was something in the way she spoke and what she said." Hermione repeated the prophecy to Draco.

"Draco means dragon, yes. So, I'm what? The dragon?" he asked, in confusion.

"The prophecy speaks of _two_ dragons—the false one, and a true one. The true one has to be you," reasoned Harry. "So what is the false dragon?"

"On this night, he will send a false dragon to seduce the Descendant of the Queen on the tower where the Elder Wand fell…the dragon isn't a what—it's a _who!_ Someone disguised, or polyjuiced as Draco is going to trick Épiphanie! We have to warn her! Do you know where she is, Draco?" demanded Hermione.

"I was just headed to meet her on the Astronomy—oh, Merlin, no!" His pale face went gray.

"The tower where the Elder Wand fell!" Harry exclaimed. He broke into a sprint with Draco close at his heels.

Épiphanie sat perched on the parapet, looking out at the darkness; fat snowflakes sparkled in the moonlight as they fell, blanketing the castle grounds. She wrapped her cloak about herself and took a puff on her cigar, tasting the flavor for a few seconds before exhaling slowly.

"I was beginning to think the depths of the library had claimed you," she said to the pale figure that appeared from the shadows.

"The library is a harsh taskmaster, but your siren song will always draw me away even from the pursuit of enlightenment," Draco replied.

"Look at you waxing poetic!" she teased and offered the cigar to him.

"No. All I want is you." He held out his hand and Épiphanie carefully stepped away from the crenel where she was sitting. "Your hands are like ice!" he declared, kissing first the fingers on her right, then the fingers on her left hand.

Épiphanie slipped her hands into his robes and around his waist, pressing herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her and inclined his head to hers, crushing his lips against hers painfully. She nipped at his lip and he softened his pressure.

"Merlin, you taste so good!" he whispered, his hands traveling down her back and settling themselves on the curve of her bottom. He gripped her ass and ground his hips against hers.

Épiphanie paused. Something wasn't right. The current that always accompanied Draco's touch wasn't there. Why was he being so aggressive?

"Draco—"

"Shh! Don't talk!"

 _What_? Épiphanie began to lean away from him. He tightened his grip and moved with her until the back of her legs touched the crenel once more.

 _Il n'est pas nécessaire de se précipiter, mon furet._

 _What? Damn, I could take you right here!_

Épiphanie shoved him away, roughly. "Draco!" she glared at him. He smiled at her lasciviously. She looked at him suspiciously. "Who are you?" Her hand went for her wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Don't fuck with me, Draco!" she glared at him. "What the hell?"

"Épiphanie!" she thought she heard her name being called out from somewhere below. Épiphanie turned and looked to the spiral staircase just as a jet of red shot from his wand.

"Épiphanie!" Draco shouted as he saw the stunner being cast by his double. She put up a shield, but the force of the action caused her to lose her balance and she tumbled over the parapet. "Nooo!" he cried.

Harry fired a stunner upward at the Draco double as they raced up the last steps, only to have it blocked by his shield. The second Draco fired off a curse at them, and Harry grabbed the wandless real Draco by the back of his robes, pulling him down as the killing curse flew past them and destroyed a telescope on the far side of the tower. The second Draco dropped the wand he'd stolen from the first, using the momentary distraction to run for the wall, transforming into a Kestrel and taking off.

Draco and Harry dashed for the wall, Harry looking over—reliving the last deadly encounter he'd had in this very spot, Draco falling to his knees, sweeping his hands over the floor in search of the tell-tale dust that meant Épiphanie was somewhere behind him. He grabbed his wand from where it fell, trying desperately to push away the nightmarish memory that he'd shared with Harry the year before.

"Homenum Revelio!"

"Draco!" Harry croaked out. "Come on!" The two sprinted back down the staircase.

An ear-splitting howl rang out in the snowy night followed by a force that rumbled through the castle. The structure shook so violently that the windows of the Great Hall shattered into dust. The younger students trembled with dread as older students attempted to calm them while gripping their wands apprehensively. The headmistress and every professor in the castle grabbed their wands as they leapt to their feet.

"Oh, no!" Hermione murmured as she stepped through the portrait hole, throwing Ron and Ginny an uneasy look.

Draco and Harry loped across the grounds as quickly as the deep snow would allow them, the pale-haired wizard staggering as if drunk behind the dark-haired one who seemed driven by an unseen force. Harry was the first to reach the bottom of the tower and was astonished to find that Épiphanie was not there lying broken in the snow.

"Épiphanie? You're—What? How?" Harry stammered.

Épiphanie was standing—or more accurately, floating just above the snow, her long curls stood out around her face, in much the same way as Hermione's bushy hair, so charged with magic as it was. She was breathing heavily, her eyes vacant.

"Épiphanie!" Draco gasped as he caught up with Harry.

"Crucio!" she screamed. Draco fell into the freezing snow, writhing in pain, his screams echoing into the night.

"Épiphanie, it wasn't him! It was an imposter using polyjuice potion!" Harry exclaimed. His pleas fell on deaf ears as she stalked towards Draco. Harry sent a stunner in her direction that fell ineffectively against her shield charm, but at least broke her concentration on inflicting pain against Draco. "Épiphanie, this is the _real Draco!_ He loves you!" Harry grabbed her arm. "Épiphanie, look at him!"

Draco lay thrashing on the frigid earth, every nerve ending in his body alternating between white-hot agony and freezing numbness. He stared up at the witch who held his heart in her hand, as she approached him. In the distance, he heard voices coming closer. Were they the spirits from the other side of the veil? Would he die at the hand of the very one he loved the most? Perhaps it was meant to be—providence—that he should meet his end lying in the same spot as the one great wizard who had once offered mercy on his soul, when he himself had been prepared to damn it for eternity. Harry continued to plead with Épiphanie, but Draco knew that the secret pain was possessing her.

"Ma Zirondelle," he whispered, shivering violently, whether from pain or cold, he wasn't sure. His eyelids felt heavy, and he fought to keep them open, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Si je dois mourir ce soir, rappelez-vous que je vous aimerai jusqu'au jour où vous êtes moi et je suis vous." ( _If I must die tonight, remember that I will love you until the day that you are me and I am you._ )

Épiphanie narrowed her eyes, staring at him as if stricken. "Draco—I—no—"

"Always." He smiled at her and his eyes fluttered closed as he lost consciousness.

"Épiphanie?" Harry spoke quietly and cautiously. He gripped his wand tightly, but did not point it at her. He could see The Headmistress, followed by all of the Heads of Houses moving swiftly in their direction. Épiphanie turned to him.

"Harry?" Her knees buckled and she collapsed in his arms.

All of the portraits in The Headmistress' office were alert, watching the intense verbal joust taking place between the head of the school and The Boy Who Lived.

"It is an _unforgivable_ curse, Potter!" The Headmistress stormed.

" _And she is_ _The Minister's Daughter!_ " Harry yelled back. "Please, Professor." He lowered his voice to a more respectful level. "Think of the bigger picture. An unknown wizard or wizards may have breached the school's defenses—again. He disguised himself as _Draco Malfoy_ in order to get close to her, and might have killed her. There is only one way that she could have survived that fall—a fall from the very tower where Dumbledore met his end. Pardon me, professors." Harry looked at Dumbledore and Snape's portraits respectively as he mentioned this. "If Épiphanie were to be sanctioned for using an unforgivable curse, it would become public knowledge that Hogwarts is not secure. The ministry would be scandalized and most of all, it would destroy a family."

"Harry, you are asking me to _lie_ to The Minister of Magic—about his own daughter."

"Minerva, much as I am loathed to admit it, I must agree with Potter," said Snape from his portrait. "If the press were to get ahold of this information, the world would know that she is capable of powerful _wandless magic._ Do we want to expose her to any further potential danger?" Harry was startled to hear the man in the portrait agreeing with him.

"I _saw_ her eyes, Professor, there is no way that Épiphanie was in her right mind when she attacked Draco. Something happened up in the tower with that impostor before she went over the side. She would never intentionally hurt him. They are deeply in love, headmistress. It is what Draco professed just as he blacked out. What _he_ said to her is what broke whatever trance she was in. I'm only asking for time, Headmistress. Time to talk to Draco and Épiphanie and to try to find out what happened."

Minerva paced for a moment. Harry looked up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. He gazed at him with a knowing expression, and Harry didn't miss the twinkle in his painted eyes. Harry wondered for a moment if the portrait could use legilimency and knew of all the information that he was yet withholding from the Headmistress. He had failed to mention that the impostor had somehow come into possession of Draco's own wand, and it appeared that Hermione had not gone to her with information about the prophecy when he and Draco fled to the tower. He looked back in her direction when he heard her sigh heavily.

"Very well, Potter. I don't like it, but I know that Albus would encourage me to trust you," She glanced briefly at the portrait. "so I shall. However, I will also hold you responsible if your actions cause further mayhem. As you know, I am well aware of your penchant for disregarding rules and personal safety. I shall consider it my greatest accomplishment as headmistress to see the end of the school term without you visiting the hospital wing."


	29. Confessions

**_Confessions_**

Mumbling. What—who was mumbling? Draco wearily opened his eyes and looked around. He was in the hospital wing. Why? The last thing he remembered was lying in the snow…snow…The memories began to come back to him in flashes—leaving the library…Harry and Hermione…two Dracos…the Astronomy tower… Épiphanie thrown over the side of the tower… Épiphanie standing over him… He looked around for the source of the mumbling. There she was, on her knees beside the bed. Her dark hair looked wild and unkempt. Her voice was low as she prayed.

"In the Name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, Amen." She crossed herself. "St. Barbara, As your last words to Christ Jesus, before the sword severed your head from your body, were that all those who invoked His Holy Name in memory of you, may find their sins forgotten on the Day of Judgment. Help me in my tribulations; console me in my afflictions and intercede for me and for my family in our needs. In the Name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, Amen" She crossed herself. "Please heal Draco, Lord. Grant his protection and return him to fullness. Please, God, forgive me for believing the deception. Forgive my impure thoughts. Remove from me the curse of anger, for vengeance is not mine, O, Lord, but your own. I beg of you, God, please release me from the hurts, harm, and habits that have shaped my heart. In the Name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, Amen" She crossed herself again. "Oh Mother of Perpetual Help, grant that I may ever invoke thy most powerful name. O purest Mary, O sweetest Mary, let thy name henceforth be ever on my lips. Delay not, O Blessed Lady, to help me whenever I call on thee. For in all my needs, in all my temptations, I shall never cease to call on thee, ever repeating thy sacred name, Mary, Mary. I will not be content with merely pronouncing thy name, but let my love for thee prompt me ever to hail thee, Mother Of Perpetual Help. In the Name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, Amen." Épiphanie made the sign of the cross and continued reciting prayers and novenas, swaying slightly as she intoned.

Draco was watching her so intently, that he was startled when Nurse Pomfrey pulling back the curtain.

"She's been there like that since she came round yesterday morning. Steadfastly refused to return to bed. Her magic was so charged, I feared for the first time in my life that she might hurt me if I attempted to return her by force. Now, let's have a look at you, shall we?" She waved her wand silently over Draco's body, nodding with satisfaction. "No obvious signs of hypothermia or frostbite. Body temperature a little elevated. Let's remove some of these blankets." She flicked her wand and Draco suddenly felt less confined as several of the blankets layered on him disappeared. "That should do. How do you feel?" she asked.

"I—uh—" he was distracted by the intonation of Épiphanie's praying and glanced back to her briefly. "I don't feel bad. A little tired, I guess."

"Yes, that's to be expected with exposure to the cold. Once your temperature returns to normal, you may go. Perhaps after lunch." She patted his knee and left him.

Draco sat up, watching Épiphanie as she continued to pray.

"Oh Blessed Saint Lazarus, Patron of the Poor, I believe in you and call on your most holy spirit to grant me my favor." She made the sign of the cross. **"** In The Name Of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. I trust in your infinite goodness to intercede for me through Jesus Christ, Our Lord to grant me this petition. Provide thy divine intervention to restore Draco. Allow his heart and spirit to continue its transformation. Continue to grant him the peace that he has so fervently sought. I offer my undying servitude in your name, and I promise to reveal to him the secrets that I have withheld. In the Name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, Amen."

As she crossed herself once more, and Draco noticed that her face was streaked with tears. He reached out and caressed her cheek.

"Dragonfly," he whispered. Épiphanie opened her eyes and stared up at him.

"Draco!" she breathed.

"Please don't cry."

"Draco, I'm so sorry! I—"

"Shhh!" he pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He could feel her quivering and stroked her hair. "I know. It's okay. You were deceived." He drew back the blankets and edged over, patting the mattress. "Come on." Épiphanie looked to the curtain surrounding his bed for a moment with uncertainty. "I just want to hold you close to me, I promise."

She climbed into the bed, and Draco pulled the blankets around them, wrapping her in his arms. They reclined against the pillows and stared in each other's eyes. Draco brushed away the tears that stained her cheeks.

 _I will listen, my love. Whenever you are ready._

Épiphanie heaved a sigh. "When I was little, I thought it was fun to see what people were thinking. I guess I couldn't yet control my magic. Until I started school…" she sighed again. "The things I was seeing in the minds of some of my friends began to give me nightmares. One of the priests at our school was molesting them. I told it, but none of the children would admit it at first, and since it hadn't happened to me and the only way that I could explain it was to say that I saw it in their thoughts, the adults thought I was making it up. Even though someone finally came forward, and he was removed, I was expelled from the school."

Draco stroked Épiphanie's hair as she talked. He noticed that her shaking was beginning to subside and he could feel the current of magic once again flowing between them.

"I was kicked out of Catholic school two more times before Maman finally put me in public school and made me promise not to use my gift in school. What can I say, I'm stubborn and willful. When I got bored, I would pick out people and look into their thoughts. Then I realized that I could control them that way, sometimes I would play with people, especially the ones who were mean to people, until I met Ma Mère. She insisted that I never abuse the skill of legilimency, because it could put me in danger. Well, I didn't know other witches or wizards existed, so I didn't really listen like I should."

"You shouldn't be ashamed of that, my darling. I admit, I never concerned myself with what childhood would be like for a muggleborn who doesn't understand their magic just yet, but it makes sense that you would be a little irresponsible and curious."

"I wasn't just curious, Draco. I was reckless and out of control. I told you that Ma Mère had taught me to use and control my magic early on. She also insisted that I respect it and I didn't. I was careless." She curled into Draco, resting her head on his chest, and listened to the steady beating of his heart before she spoke again. "I—I've never told anyone this before…"

Draco was silent. He gave her a squeeze of encouragement and took her hand, lacing their fingers.

"I—I killed a man." She whispered. Draco held his breath and waited for her to continue. "I—he—" she faltered.

 _Let it go, my love. I'm here._

"It was the summer before we met. I was walking home from La Maison Blanche. A man grabbed me and pulled me into an alley between two buildings…"

 _Did he?_

"No, he tried, but…" she shuddered violently. "First, I was scared, and then I just snapped and became angry. I was fighting him so hard, I didn't realize I had cast the curse until the entire alley flashed green and he collapsed." She was crying again, in earnest. "It took days for me to come back to myself. I didn't speak or eat. I hurt the people around me. Maman thought I was possessed. I'm surprised that she didn't call my father to come then. It was the one time I clearly remember Ma Mère appearing in my home. She encouraged me to calm down and banish the thoughts from my mind. Now, I can usually clear my mind at night before I sleep and avoid the nightmares, but it's in the light of day, when I see evil turned against people, I'm right back in that alley and I'm just filled with blind rage. When I was dueling Nott, I was beating him because I was in his head and I knew what he was about to fire. When he cast Sectumsempra, he wasn't just frustrated that he was losing and desperate, he _intended_ to kill me. I was going to teach him a lesson."

She paused and inhaled deeply, wiping her face with the bedsheet. "I—I thought it was you at first on the tower. But then you—that wizard touched me and there was not the same feeling as we have…" Draco squeezed her hand and brought it up to his lips. "…and you—he was so uncouth in the way he touched me, I knew he wasn't you, just before I heard someone call my name. But I thought you were him, when I saw you coming towards me. I—I didn't mean to—"

Draco wrapped his arms tightly around her as she clung desperately to him. He kissed the top of her head, and stroked her back, whispering reassurances to her as he silently plotted his revenge.

Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron met Draco and Épiphanie as they were leaving the hospital wing just after lunch.

"We need to talk," Harry said.

A few minutes later they were all seated around a table in the Room of Requirement. The windows of the Great Hall had been replaced before students arrived for breakfast following the attack and the teachers put about a rumor among the portraits that a young banshee had wandered onto the grounds as the source of the frightening noise. Épiphanie, Draco and Harry recounted what happened on the tower to an appalled Hermione, Ginny and Ron. The veterans clearly recalling the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, Harry and Draco both wore looks of haunted consternation at the thought. Then Hermione repeated her encounter with Professor Trelawney before she ran into Draco and Harry.

"There's something about—Hermione, do you remember Professor Trelawney's exact words?" Épiphanie asked.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated for a few seconds before she spoke. " _Beware the Servant who seeks the Caduceus wand, for on this very night he will send a false dragon to seduce the Descendant of the Queen on the very tower where the Elder wand fell. In order to protect the Descendant from the ones who would consume her very essence and stop the Servant raising a new army from the Cities of the Dead, the True Dragon must acknowledge his own protector on the night that the Ordinary Time draws to a close, and force the Servant destroy himself."_

"I believe that maybe the army from the Cities of the Dead refers to Inferi, but where are these Cities of the Dead? And we couldn't work out the reference about Ordinary Time."

"Oh, _Holy Mother of God!_ " Épiphanie sat back in her chair, her face stricken.

"What is it?" Draco touched her arm. "Épiphanie?"

"Okay, I'm guessing none of you are Catholic, or you would have figured it out immediately."

"Wizards," said Ginny, indicating the others.

"Church of England." Hermione pointed to herself and Harry.

"Right. Okay, so Hermione, you've heard of the Epiphany season that takes place after Christmas."

"Of course. It ends with the Feast of the Presentation on February second."

"You mean Twelfth Night? That's just before we return to school," said Ron.

"Yes, right about January sixth. Well, in modern Catholic tradition, we celebrate the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord and that ends the Epiphany season and begins Shrovetide, or Ordinary Time which lasts until just before Ash Wednesday. This is the period that many cultures hold Carnival—or in America, _Mardi Gras!_ "

Now it was Draco's turn to be struck with a realization.

"Cities of the Dead! Épiphanie, you mean—"

"Y'all, this is bad. In New Orleans, the Cities of the Dead are the cemeteries. We entomb our dead because the city is built on a swamp. I'm talking thousands of crypts, many of which are still in regular use by families, meaning there can be dozens of bodies in one tomb. All one needs is to open a door to get inside of them. Ma Mère's remains are in St. Louis Cemetery. Thousands of people from all over the world come to New Orleans to celebrate Mardi Gras, and they'll just about all be in the French Quarter."

"It would be an international incident of epic proportions. The MACUSA would be disgraced by a magical attack against foreign nationals on American soil. Wands must be registered upon entering the U.S. and MACUSA tracks the use of hexes throughout the country. If it was discovered that Épiphanie's wand was involved in the attack, the Americans will come after the Ministry of Magic, so will the countries whose wizards were attacked. It would be a magical World War!" Hermione leapt from her chair and began to pace. "Épiphanie when is Mardi Gras this year?"

"I think it's on the sixteenth. Maman mentioned it in her last letter."

"That's in six days. We have to warn someone!"

"Who? Even if McGonagall or Kingsley did believe us, who's to say that the MACUSA will intervene? Besides, we don't know who the 'Servant' is." Ron pointed out.

"There's still the rest of the prophecy," Harry said. "The dragon must protect the descendant from those who would consume her very essence and force the Servant to destroy himself."

"We know that Épiphanie is the descendant and Draco is the dragon." Hermione explained, sounding very much like a teacher. "He must protect her from those who would consume her very essence—very essence…"

"Essence is the spirit, you know—the soul," said Épiphanie. All of the others at the table fell silent. Draco looked ill. "What?"

"Épiphanie, the only being that could consume one's soul— _your_ soul—are dementors." Ron's voice was ominous as he spoke.

"But no one has seen the dementors since Kingsley had them removed from Azkaban," replied Ginny.

"Until now," said Hermione. She returned to the table and pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from her satchel, opening it on the table. They all leaned in to read the headline.

 _New York Ghost_ _Reports Dementors spotted above the Bermuda Triangle_

"Of course the MACUSA, the U.S. muggle government and the government of Bermuda are all denying the reports, but if this is true, it would take them no time to reach Louisiana if they were summoned."

"They can easily be hidden in the bayous outside of the city." Épiphanie frowned.

"Draco?" Ginny looked at him with alarm. "You look ill. Maybe you should go back to the hospital wing."

"I'm fine. I'll be fine." He swiped a hand over his face. Épiphanie touched his arm. He gave her a weak smile.

"If we can't trust the Ministry or MACUSA to act on a warning, what are we going to do? The time it would take for you guys to get muggle passports for a flight to America would make an attempt to get there useless. We can't apparate that far, can we?" Épiphanie asked.

"No, and it would also take too long to go by broom, plus we'd have to be able to maintain some sort of invisibility from aircraft," said Hermione.

"The only other option would be a portkey," suggested Harry

"But portkeys are regulated by the Ministry," Hermione pointed out.

"Hermione, one may require permission to create a portkey, but clearly the Ministry is unable to detect an unauthorized portkey. Remember the TriWizard Cup?" Harry replied.

"Besides, we can just blame it on Percy!" Ron winked at her.

"Okay, _supposing_ we are even able to create a portkey, and manage all these other amazing feats, how do we get away from the school without getting caught?" Épiphanie asked.

"Leave that to me," Harry said.

"There's still one more problem..." Ron spoke up. "We _don't know_ who the Servant is."

"No, but I think I know who can point us in the right direction." Draco stood.

Pansy gripped the sink in the first-floor girl's bathroom, her knuckles white. She whimpered as a stab of pain shot through her pelvis.

"Merlin, help me!" she whispered.

"Hello, Pansy."

She snapped her head up to spy Épiphanie's reflection behind her in the mirror.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions." Épiphanie indicated Harry, Draco and Hermione as they stepped forward. "You don't look well. Maybe you should sit down." She conjured a small three-legged chair with a narrow seat and back that resembled an inverted T.

Pansy looked at her with astonishment. It did not escape her notice that Épiphanie had just performed this charm without the aid of a wand. Épiphanie only responded with a kind smile. She gestured to the chair, and Pansy stepped forward on wobbly legs and took a seat. She gripped the small openings on the sides of the seat tightly.

"It occurred to me, that the last thing I had done before I discovered my wand missing was have a conversation with _you_ , Pansy." Draco held up his wand.

"I—I'm sorry, Draco. I—mm!" she bit back the moan that was trying to escape. "Please, just leave me alone!" a fine mist of sweat dotted her brow.

"Pansy, we're not here to hurt you. If you just tell us what we want to know, we'll leave you to it." Épiphanie's voice was sympathetic.

"He said he would help me with my—a problem that I had. All I had to do was distract you, so that he could steal your wand. He knew that I was angry with you, Draco, and that I could make you both pay." She began to cry.

"Who, Pansy?" Harry asked. Pansy cried harder, shaking her head.

"Pansy," Épiphanie said. "Don't make us do this the hard way." Her eyes scanned over Pansy, and then held the other girl's in her gaze.

"It was Theodore Nott!" Pansy blurted. "Now will you please leave me alone!"

"Nott couldn't have orchestrated this plan alone," said Hermione. "He had to be working on someone else's orders. Who did he steal the wand for, Pansy."

"I don't know. I swear! I don't know! Please leave me alone!"

"I know you aren't well, Pansy. We're almost done."

"No one is to know that this conversation took place. Make the unbreakable vow," said Draco, kneeling in front of her.

"What? No!" Another pain shot through her pelvis. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay, fine. Fine!" She held out her hand and Draco took it. Harry pulled out his wand and touched it to their linked hands.

"Will you, Pansy, promise not to divulge that you revealed to us, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt, and Draco Malfoy, information about Theodore Nott as the impostor?" Harry asked.

"I will." Pansy panted. A stream of fire was emitted from Harry's wand and wove itself around Pansy and Draco's hands. Draco released Pansy's hand and stood. Pansy let out a wail and the floor beneath the chair was suddenly drenched. Draco leapt back.

"Bloody Hell!" he swore, but no one could hear him over Pansy's keening wail.

"Is that—?" Harry began. Hermione's eyes widened with shock and she gasped, looking to Épiphanie who nodded.

"Her waters just broke. Make yourselves useful, guys and go get Madame Pomfrey." Épiphanie knelt down in front of Pansy and began to tug up her robes. " _Today_!" she added when they still didn't move. Harry and Draco ran from the room.

"You can't deliver a baby!" Hermione declared, frantically. Pansy moaned loudly.

"I'm not delivering a baby, Hermione. She's delivering a baby. I'm keeping it from hitting the floor." Épiphanie vanished Pansy's tights and pushed the girl's knees apart. "But I'm seriously hoping that Madame Pomfrey gets here before that happens. Get behind her and rub her back."

"Wowwww! What a racket!" Moaning Myrtle appeared and perched on the sink. "Somebody's been naughty! Shouldn't you be doing this in the hospital wing, and where's Daddy?"

"Oh, for _fuck's sake!_ " Pansy wailed. "Go _away!_ "

"I beg your pardon! You came into _my bathroom_ and turned it into the Hogwarts Maternity Home."

"Myrtle, please! We're sorry, just be quiet, _please?_ " Hermione begged.

"Fine."

Pansy gripped the sides of the chair for dear life and leaned forward, letting out a long groan. Épiphanie lifted the girl's robes and peeked under.

"Oh, shit!" Just then, Madame Pomfrey burst through the door. "Oh, thank, God!" Épiphanie sighed.

"You must be joking! Never in all my time at Hogwarts!" she declared. "What do you think you're doing? Step aside child!" she snapped.

"But—" Épiphanie began. Madame Pomfrey pushed Pansy's robes up above her knees.

"Oh, my! Why didn't you say the head was delivered?" She knelt beside Épiphanie, shoulder to shoulder and drew her wand as Pansy moaned again. "There, there, child. Just try to relax." The matron pointed her wand. Pansy's labored moan softened to a whimper and they could see the tension in her shoulders ease a bit. "That's it. Nearly there, now. The hardest part is over. Miss Shacklebolt, you join Miss Granger and hold Miss Parkinson underneath her shoulders. I don't want her to collapse." Épiphanie did as she was told. Pansy sobbed loudly.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, love. Just bear down one more time," said Madame Pomfrey soothingly. "You're doing just fine. Come on, dear. That's it. There we are! It's a girl!"

Madame Pomfrey had the baby and her mother cleaned up and on a stretcher in short order, pointing her wand to levitate it. Draco and Harry were waiting when they entered the corridor. They all followed the matron to the Hospital Wing where the Headmistress was waiting.

After being apprised that Pansy and the baby were in good condition and would be transported to St. Mungo's as soon as her parents were alerted, Minerva McGonagall turned to the students, her face a mask of exasperation.

"Well?"

"We heard her crying as we passed and went to investigate. The boys went to find Madame Pomfrey and we stayed behind to—" For once, Hermione was at a loss for words. Épiphanie shrugged. The Headmistress turned to the boys.

"Don't look at me!" Harry exclaimed.

"Draco?" She gave him a pointed look.

"I can assure you, Headmistress, I do not know who the baby's father is."

The Headmistress wasn't entirely convinced by Draco's statement, but in the absence of further evidence, she let the matter drop for the moment and heaved a sigh.

"Just _once,_ I would like for it to not be you and your lot, Potter. Is that too much to ask?" She turned towards Madame Pomfrey's office. "I shall have to retire before your children enroll at Hogwarts," she muttered as she walked away.

Apparently dismissed, the group left the hospital wing. Draco gave Pansy one final glance before the doors swung shut behind them. As it was nearly dinnertime now, the group decided to put off returning to the Room of Requirement to discuss their plans, and headed towards the Great Hall.

"Did you know, that Nott was an animagus?" Harry asked Draco as they followed behind Hermione and Épiphanie.

"Not a clue."

"Perhaps he went through the transformation during the war," Harry mused. Draco shrugged, raking a hand through his hair. The two parted ways as they entered the Great Hall, and he joined Épiphanie at the Slytherin table.

"How'd it go?" Ginny asked Harry and Hermione as they sat down.

"Later," he replied.

"What's going on?" asked Neville. "You don't seriously believe that story about a banshee do you?"

"They know something," put in Dean. "Their faces are guilty as sin! Besides Malfoy and Épiphanie haven't been to class in two days."

The others looked at each other.

"Okay," Harry said, "But not here. Meet us in the Room of Requirement after dinner. We may need your help anyway."

On the other side of the room, Blaise Zabini sat down across from Épiphanie and Draco, interrupting their whispered conversation.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" Draco gave him a blank look.

"Come off it, Draco. It's all over the school. You were seen following them to the hospital wing."

"And?"

Blaise frowned impatiently. "Well, maybe The Minister's daughter doesn't mind if her lover has an illegitimate child. Isn't that what you're used to?" He cut his eyes at Épiphanie.

"At least I _know_ my daddy," Épiphanie rolled her eyes. "Mum's the word on yours, right?" she winked. Blaise glared at her.

"Now, now, my love," Draco gave her a peck on the cheek. "Play nice."

"Fine," she turned her lips in a mock pout. "But you better get your boy. You know how I get when I have to deal with…unleashed _pets._ " She rested her chin on Draco's shoulder and gave Blaise a menacing smile.

"If you must know, Blaise, I simply happened to be present when Pansy went into labor. However, I was _nowhere_ near the scene of the crime when the child was conceived. A Malfoy would never be so careless." He winked at Épiphanie. She rewarded him with a kiss on his neck.

"Maybe just careless enough to believe that a snowstorm was a good time for a little bang? It's a wonder you survived the banshee. That must be _some_ fanny."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, darling! He's so _gauche_! That tongue of his!"

"You're right, dearest. Such a way for a commoner to address a Lady! Don't you Catholics have a practice of silence for repentance and contemplation?"

"Why _yes_ , yes we do!" Épiphanie gave him a wicked smile before turning to Blaise.

 _Langlock_

Blaise gasped and clutched at his throat. His eyes widened and he glared at the couple, banging his fists angrily on the table before storming from the Hall. Épiphanie giggled until tears fell from her eyes.

"I should probably stop that. Professor McGonagall told me not to antagonize my housemates. At this rate, you're going to lose all of your friends!" she laughed.

Draco shrugged. "I sincerely doubt it. Unlike Nott, Blaise _needs_ friends like me. No one else wants to put up with his arrogance for more than a few minutes. Besides it looks good to be associated with someone like me who is independently wealthy and has Ministry connections. He won't come into his birthright until he turns twenty-five. That is, assuming Mummy hasn't dispatched him by then as well."

When the group returned to the Room of Requirement, they were joined by Dean and Neville. Draco was less than pleased.

"Too many moving parts," he said.

"Draco, Neville held the fort during the occupation of the castle. He set up the connection to The Hogshead that let us infiltrate the castle and allow the evacuation of students who otherwise may have been killed. He killed Nagini. Despite your history, he's certainly trustworthy and a skilled fighter. Dean came back to the castle to fight, and he didn't even have a wand when he arrived. Nonetheless, he won a wand and managed to hold off Dolohov and Travers."

"Okay, fine. Whatever." Draco relented. They may very well need all the help they could get.

"Épiphanie, when we were on the train before the start of term, you said that Draco discovered you were a witch after some sort of run-in with other wizards?" Hermione asked.

"Uh-huh. Why?"

"Well, don't you think that's strange? You said that you didn't actually have any real contact with the wizarding community before you met Draco, right?"

"Well, now that you mention it, that is strange, but Ma Mère says that the many in the Wizarding community take advantage of the prevalence of voodoo in New Orleans to live in plain sight among muggles, only hiding their magic—always have. I guess you'd have to just know one another, like being a Mason. Remember, I'm the first magical descendant of Marie Laveau. No one alive in my family would know. Most of the muggle world thinks her magic is the stuff of legend."

"Then why would someone want to attack you?" asked Dean.

"I said no one in my family knew about my magic until my father showed up and revealed it—or confirmed it. But that doesn't mean I'm not famous in New Orleans. I'm the Little Marie Laveau. Maman says that business has taken a certain decline since I left town. People came to La Maison Duminy because my readings were so accurate—you know, legilimency and all."

"But they could very well have been after me. Épiphanie didn't have the wand yet after all," Draco added.

"Do you think they might have just been some rogues thinking they were having a go at muggles?" suggested Dean.

"That could be true, but not knowing who we're looking for—except maybe Nott, this is going to be difficult. I'm only looking at all the angles."

"Hermione, everything we've done over the last seven years has been difficult. Yet here we are," reminded Ron.

"Where will we portkey to?" asked Ginny.

"My house," Épiphanie shrugged.

"Won't your mother get suspicious if you suddenly appear at home with Draco, Harry and five more friends when you're supposed to be in Scotland?" asked Ron.

"Not if we can be sure to land in her bedroom," said Draco.

"Merlin, Draco! How's that supposed to help?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Well, anyone besides you, that is," Ron added.

"Actually, I never lifted the Repello Muggletum on the room…What? When a girl wants to sneak out at night, it's pretty useful. We could portkey there and then Draco, you and I can take everyone side-along to La Maison Blanche."

The group decided to leave on Saturday. That way there would be no classes for them to be missed from. They broke up after agreeing to meet in the Room after breakfast that morning. Draco hung back, a look of consternation on his face.

"Alright, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"That prophecy—the dragon must acknowledge his own protector in order to protect the descendant—how am I supposed to do that?" He spread his hands plaintively.

"Draco, from what I've seen, your love for Épiphanie should be strong enough to sustain a corporeal patronus."

"Harry, didn't you ever wonder why I skivved off Weasley's lessons on the subject? I can't cast a patronus charm!"

"What do you mean? Why not? I can teach you, if that's what you're worried about. I taught the D.A."

"No, Potter! I don't mean I don't know _how_ —I mean I _can't!_ Don't you know about Raczidian?"

"Who's that?"

"Raczidian was a dark wizard who sent dementors to attack the village of a maiden he wanted to marry. He was thwarted by a young wizard named Illyius who cast a powerful patronus in the form of a mouse. Raczidian was insulted and tried to cast a patronus to ward off the mouse. But maggots erupted from his wand and devoured him instead."

"What does that have to do with you, Draco?"

"I'm—I can't—I'm not worthy to cast a patronus." Draco's cheeks reddened and he looked away, clearly embarrassed to have to reveal such a weakness to Harry Potter.

"Draco," Harry said after a few moments. "In order to cast a patronus, one must marshal the happiest memory they can think of—the more joyful the memory, the better. If you think you're not worthy, Draco, you won't be able to cast a patronus, but the fact that you and I are here in this moment even having this conversation is a testament to the man you've become, not the boy you used to be." Harry looked directly at Draco when he spoke next. "Did you ever happen to see Snape's patronus?"

"Of course not."

"No one alive, apart from myself, knows this. It was a doe—the same as my mother's." Harry paused and gave Draco a measured look. "He was very much in love with her. I think when the time comes you will know your true worth."

The group spent the next two days secretly preparing for the trip. Hermione and Ginny set about arranging their portkey. Épiphanie managed to successfully distract Professor Slughorn while Draco _acquired_ a few flasks of the potions master's store of polyjuice potion. The others went about surreptitiously securing any other supplies they thought they might need. The students made sure to make their presence known in all of their classes while carefully concealing Épiphanie's lack of a wand.

"Mr. Malfoy, a word, please." Professor McGonagall approached Draco as he entered the Great Hall for dinner on Friday evening. She led him to a small chamber just behind the staff table.

"What may I do for you, Headmistress?" he asked, hoping his nervousness was not evident. He studiously cleared his mind, unsure of the woman's ability to use legilimency.

"I thought you would like to know that Pansy and the child are doing just fine."

"Thank you for that information, headmistress, but I'm not—"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I am aware. Miss Parkinson has named Vincent Crabbe as the father."

"Did she? Oh." Draco furrowed his brow.

"I take it that you were unaware of any type of relationship between the two."

It appeared to Draco that The Headmistress was fishing for information. He examined his sleeve, plucking away a piece of lint from his jumper before he spoke.

"No ma'am. I was not aware of that." He paused. "I don't think that she—I think that perhaps Pansy would rather explain that herself."

Minerva gave Draco an appraising look. "Thank you, Draco. Please, enjoy your meal."

Later that evening, Draco sat staring into the fireplace, his fingers curled loosely around the mouthpiece of his hookah.

"May I?"

He looked up to see Épiphanie standing beside him. She took the hose and he pulled her into his lap. She placed the carved wooden mouthpiece between her lips and took a drag, holding her breath before exhaling the water vapor, her eyes closed.

"I thought you'd never smoked hookah before," he said, taking the hose from her.

"I haven't."

Draco inhaled the potent scent of cannabis, turning his head to avoid exhaling in Épiphanie's face. "You should be resting." He absently trailed his fingers along her thigh, sliding beneath the hem of her nightshirt.

"So should you," she replied.

"I know."

"You're thinking about Pansy."

"McGonagall said she named the baby's father."

"Do you know him?"

"His name was Vincent Crabbe."

"Was?"

"He died in the Battle. We—Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and I followed Harry, Ron and Hermione into the Room of Requirement to ambush them. That turned into a protracted duel, and Crabbe conjured Fiendfyre to try to kill them. Only, he didn't know what he was doing. He set the entire room ablaze. Harry, Ron and Hermione saved me and Goyle on broomsticks, but Crabbe never made it out. Another death on my hands." He sighed heavily.

"Draco—"

"I know what you're going to say, my love. It still doesn't make me feel any less guilty. I was so stupid! I'll never be able to make it up to the people that I hurt. The thing is…I don't think Pansy ever actually had a relationship with Crabbe. She couldn't stand him. I know it. She only tolerated him because he was _my_ friend and she wanted to be with me. She hoped that our fathers would broker a match between us. To be perfectly honest, I didn't treat her any better. I used her as a way to escape all of the pain I was in, but I never really loved her." He took a draw from the hookah, the cannabis making his eyelids heavy.

"Guilt, Draco, has to become something else or it will consume you. You can't go back and change what happened, but you can turn what happens next into something positive."

"Yeah, I'm not marrying her, my love."

"You play too much!" she nudged his shoulder. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. But you can ensure that the child is cared for. If Pansy will let you, make sure the child knows that someone else is watching out for her."

"Pay it forward?"

"Pay it forward."

Épiphanie took the hose and drew on the mouthpiece. She held the cannabis vapor in her mouth for several seconds.

"'S probably not the best idea for us to be blazin' in the middle of the night," she said.

"Especially not before taking a portkey. Fuck it. What's done is done."

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"I don't know. This is different. Last time, the sides were clearly drawn and everyone knew their opponents. This—"

"Yeah. If I could just work out who The Servant might be."

"There was talk that Voldemort had his sights on taking over in America at some point."

"Did he recruit American wizards?"

"I don't know. I don't think he ever had the chance. I think his plan was to take over here, and then start expanding his empire. I wish I knew who Nott was working for. You don't think Pansy was lying, do you?"

"No. She told us everything she knew. I think I'm fairly good at catching a lie. But you think that whoever it is might be someone who was loyal him, don't you?"

"I hate to say that I do. The Aurors rounded up many of his followers, but quite a few escaped when they realized that Harry hadn't died after all. They could be anywhere. I should have known that Nott couldn't be trusted. His entire family was dyed in the wool Death Eaters. I don't want to think about these things right now, my love. I only want to think of you. Just let me hold you." Draco kissed her temple. He touched her face, tracing every inch of its surface with his fingertips.

Épiphanie turned and straddled him, she lowered her lips to his, pressing lightly at first. Draco cradled her face in his hands, parting his lips and drawing her in. They kissed one another hungrily, as if the only sustaining nourishment came from the magical energy flowing between them.

"I live for you. I die for you. Wrap your soul around mine, Épiphanie." Draco's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Yes. Let this blissfulness be never-ending. Swept up, spirits entwined forever." She brushed her lips over his face as she whispered. "This is the touch of gentleness." She kissed his eyelids. "This is the touch of skin on skin." She kissed each ear. "This is the touch of the curve against the hand." She kissed the bridge of his nose.

"I would gladly go madly into the abyss that is you and sink without resistance into the smooth lilt of your voice," he whispered, nipping at her lip. "Wash me away to a place where I know only peace, passion, coolness and heat." He lifted a lock of her hair and pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

"I can only do as much as you allow me."

"I can only touch the place you let me see."

"I can only try to be the person you want me to be. But...I cannot love you any less than I do."


	30. The Mystic Krewe of Hallows

_**The Mystic Krewe of Hallows**_

As far as the Hogwarts Headmistress and staff were concerned, it was an ordinary Saturday morning. Since they had no classes, students straggled in throughout the breakfast period. Some lingered over their meal with a textbook. Others socialized among themselves. Some simply picked up a piece of toast and left right away. No one seemed particularly concerned that a student or two missed breakfast altogether to take advantage of a lie-in. Few paid attention to Harry Potter carefully scanning The Hall, as if searching for something. Even less paid attention when Draco Malfoy and Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt left The Hall, hand in hand. One or two found it odd that Malfoy was wearing muggle clothing, even for a Saturday, but put it off to the influence that The Minister's daughter seemed to be having upon him. The Golden Trio left a few minutes later. Dean Thomas was headed out of the Great Hall not long after when he was stopped by Hannah Abbott.

"Have you seen Neville?" she asked.

"Not since I came down for breakfast. He looked like he was dead to the world. What'd you two get up to last night?" he teased.

"I didn't see him. He said something about some seedlings he was cultivating for Professor Sprout. You know how he is about those plants—is something wrong? You look a bit distracted."

"Well, you did catch me on my way to the loo…"

"Oh, sorry. Well, if you see him, tell him I'll be in the library."

"Yeah."

Hannah walked away, and Dean dashed for the Seventh floor corridor.

"Merlin! What took you so long, Thomas!" Neville snapped.

" _Your_ girlfriend, Longbottom! You're going to have a lot of explaining to do. She said to meet her in the library when you wake up."

"Can we go, please?" Ron demanded.

"Right. Keep your pants on, Weasley." Neville gazed at a spot on the far wall for a minute. Suddenly, a hatch appeared and a ladder descended. "Alright, ladies first. The top is a bit low, so mind your head."

Hermione climbed up first, followed by Ginny and Épiphanie then the boys. They walked for a short while before coming to an impasse in the tunnel.

"What is this?" Ginny asked. "Is it a cave-in?"

"How are we supposed to get through that?"

"Everyone relax. Grandmother destroyed the tunnel to keep the Death Eaters out. Just…be quiet a moment." Neville squeezed through the group until he was at the wall of stone and tree roots. He pointed his wand and touched a large taproot that was winding through the stones. The root quivered and began to draw back as if pulling out of the ground. As it moved, the stones fell away opening the tunnel, which now sloped upwards.

"Goddammit, Longbottom! What the _hell_ are you lot doing up here?" Aberforth Dumbledore cursed with surprise when the group stepped over the mantelpiece of the hearth in an upper room of the Hogshead Inn. "And what're _they_ doing with you?" he demanded, pointing his wand at Draco and Épiphanie.

"We'd like to tell you, Ab, but the less you know, the more easily you can claim plausible deniability." Harry explained. "We promise not to cause any trouble. We'll be out of your hair in just a minute."

"Mind you do," the old publican growled as he left the room.

"Well, isn't he sweet?" Épiphanie remarked.

"Okay, everyone gather 'round. It's not that big, but it's the best I could do." Hermione pulled a compact disc from her bag.

"Is that _mine_?" Draco demanded, giving Épiphanie a shocked glare.

"Seriously, Draco? It's Vanilla Ice! Jesus, quit trippin'!"

"Everybody grab on!" Hermione commanded. The group stood shoulder to shoulder, each managing to pinch an edge of the small round disc. Épiphanie felt as if a hook had snared her behind the navel and she closed her eyes as the world seemed to spin out of control.

Suddenly, she was slammed to the hardwood floor of her darkened bedroom at La Maison Duminy de Glapion. She retched and covered her face, but managed not to throw up. Dean was not so lucky and lost his breakfast under her dresser.

"Aw, man! Come on!" she grimaced. Hermione flicked her wand to clean up the mess.

"Wait, shh!" Épiphanie turned around and looked in the direction of the French Doors that led out. "Shit! Everybody get down!" she whispered, harshly, ducking behind her large bed the group followed suit.

"What's wrong?" Draco whispered, urgently.

"There's people on the balcony. That means there's a parade. Maman sells balcony tickets so people can watch the parades. We've gotta get out of here! Draco, you take Hermione, Ron and Harry. I'll take Dean, Ginny and Neville." Everyone assembled themselves and grabbed tightly to one another. "Dean, I swear if you hurl on me, I'll give you antlers!" she hissed. "Alright, let's get out of here!"

Seconds later, they appeared in the front room of La Maison Blanche. The newcomers looked around with interest while Épiphanie poured and passed a fizzing glass of amber liquid to Dean.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale. It will help with the nausea." Dean took a tentative sip. The bubbles in the liquid tingled his nose and throat. "Hmm! This is tasty!"

"What is this place?" asked Ron.

"La Maison Blanche. The historic home of Madame Marie Laveau. Épiphanie went to an open doorway and looked out into the hallway beyond.

"Why couldn't we just portkey here?" asked Dean, releasing a belch.

"Fidelius Charm," replied Draco.

"Fidelius Charm? But then how were _you_ able to apparate us here, Malfoy?" asked Ron.

Draco gave him an impish wink. "Exigent circumstances."

"So we're all secret-keepers, now?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, and be polite. Ma Mère isn't accustomed to lots of visitors—well living ones at least." Épiphanie peered out the door again.

"Ma chère, what is the meaning of this?" Épiphanie spun around and the newcomers jumped, letting out gasps and cries of surprise as the ghost passed through the wall and into the room. "Qui sont ces enfants?"

"Ma mère. I'm sorry, but I had to bring my friends here. They're helping me retrieve the Caduceus Wand—um your wand—well my wand."

"My—so you have met your father? Is that why you have not visited?" she asked.

"Oui, Madame. I've been at school in Scotland."

"And why are you looking here for the wand? I told you that I never had it."

"Yes ma'am. It was presented to me when I arrived in England." Épiphanie described her arrival in England and Ollivander's presentation of the wand, and its subsequent theft, including the prophecy. "So, I have to get it back before this dark wizard can carry out his plan."

The ghost frowned. "Les rumeurs sont varies. The ghosts have begged me to contact Le Baron."

"Le Baron?" Neville asked.

"Baron Samedi. He is the lwa of the dead. He has the power to accept an individual into the realm of the dead," Épiphanie explained.

"Do they think that he can stop the Inferi?" asked Harry.

"He cannot. Le Baron has no influence upon Inferi, they are not naturally formed. The ghosts are seeking refuge from La Faim."

"The Hunger?" Draco gave her a quizzical look.

"Dark beings that sow darkness and despair, feeding on human souls. They have been seen in the bayous outside of the city."

"Dementors," Ron whispered.

"Ma Mère, what else have you heard? Is there any talk of a wizard or the wand?"

"I'm sorry, chère, I do not like the crowds of the carnival season in these modern days. I have not ventured to walk the streets of late."

Épiphanie let out a sigh and slumped onto one of the sofas, beside Draco. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Thank you, Madame," said Harry. "We're very sorry to impose upon your home, and we will do our best to be as respectful of your home as possible." The others nodded.

"You are a friend of ma chère. I am happy that she is able to partake of fellowship with others of our kind at last. I am honored to make the acquaintance of such formidable young sorciers et sorcières as yourselves. Bienvenue. There is room for all."

"Okay! Let's get down to business, guys!" Épiphanie clapped her hands together. "We don't have much time and we need to find out who The Servant is."

"I say we try to search for any sign of a wizarding presence. There has to be somewhere that we gather, or at least frequent. An entrance to the wizarding world," Hermione suggested.

"A tarot parlor seems most likely, but there are a lot of muggles who _claim_ to be readers, so that could be a huge waste of time," Épiphanie added. Draco nodded enthusiastically.

"I noticed that there were lots of pubs around. Maybe there's one like the Leaky Cauldron." Dean belched. "Pardon me! Ahh! That Buffalo Ginger potion hit the spot, Épiphanie." She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Welp! It's a start, I guess. The streets are full of people. It shouldn't be too hard to blend in. It's almost lunchtime, so if we find something that looks promising, we'll just go in for food and keep our eyes open for signs of magic."

"You guys need disguises. If your mother, or anyone who knows you sees you or Draco, she'll know something is up." Hermione pointed at the couple.

"It's Mardi Gras," Épiphanie leaped up and went to a cupboard. She turned around wearing an elaborate mask adorned with peacock feathers. "Easy!" She gave Draco a mask that resembled The Phantom of the Opera, and invited everyone to help themselves to the green, purple and gold beads in a drawer at the bottom of the cupboard. Draco, Ron and Ginny hid their distinctive hair under ball caps and Épiphanie arranged Hermione's into two French braids while she plaited her own into thick cornrows.

"That should be good enough to at least keep us from being spotted right away," Harry said.

"Uhh, maybe I should change, you think?" Neville suggested. They looked at him, and for the first time realized that he was wearing wizarding robes.

"You didn't have _any_ muggle clothes?" asked Dean.

"For what?" Neville shrugged.

Everyone in the group looked at him oddly, except Draco. He understood that despite his beliefs, as a pure-blood, Neville's contact with the muggle world was exceptionally limited. He pointed his wand at him.

"What the hell, Draco!" Ron exclaimed.

"Relax, Weasley." Draco flicked his wand, and Neville's robes transformed themselves into a jumper and trousers with a comfortable pea coat. "See? Not a problem." He shrugged.

"Okay, let's roll!" Épiphanie declared.

The group exited from the back of the house and made their way to the sidewalk out front.

"Remember, La Maison Blanche. Just in case we get separated, apparate back here. There's lots of little courtyards and alleyways that should be safe to do that from," said Épiphanie. "Let's go down to Chartres Street and then make our way back up from Jackson Square," she suggested. "If Maman, or mes Tantes are entertaining guests on the balconies, they might see us if we go up Bourbon."

The motley band of young wizards and witches set off, and they soon found themselves caught up in the lively celebrations with the masses of people who had converged on the French Quarter for the Carnival. They could have easily appeared to be just one more group of tourists dancing along to the music that seemed to flow from everywhere, except for their very alert eyes.

They hadn't gone far, barely a block up Chartres Street, when Ron grabbed Hermione's arm, and pointed to the shingle hanging just ahead of them outside of a restaurant. She let out a gasp and stopped in her tracks.

"Harry!"

"What?" He followed her gaze to where Ron was pointing.

Painted on the square white sign in gold leaf was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. _Three Brothers Tavern,_ was the name of the establishment. At the bottom, it read: _I. Potter, Proprietor._

"What's wrong?" asked Épiphanie.

"Have you ever been in that pub?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so." She shook her head "But that name seems very familiar. It's like I've read about it somewhere. Why?"

"We'll explain later. Come on." He squared his shoulders and marched into the restaurant. The rest of the group followed.

The interior was not unusual to any other restaurant, with a bar that ran the length of the room on one side, and tables and booths filling the rest of the space. The restaurant wasn't crowded; there was a young family having lunch, and a scattering of people sat at the bar, eating. There was a mural on the opposite wall that depicted a wood with a river flowing through it. Suddenly, the painting transformed itself. The Golden Trio gasped. Harry felt nauseous, and Hermione swooned against Ron. Épiphanie stared at the new image, which now depicted three men in what were clearly wizarding robes stepping over the bridge.

"Sorry to kept y'all waitin'." A young woman about their age approached. She had unruly black hair that was gathered haphazardly into a ponytail and wore an apron tied about her waist with a polo shirt that had the Hallows embroidered on the breast. "Welcome to the Three Brothers! Come on 'een! Let's see. Y'all all together?"

"Y-yes, we are," Épiphanie answered, when none of the others spoke.

"Okay, so that's one, two, three…eight. C'mon, we got a big table over near the back." The entire group was alert as she led them to a large semi-circular booth at the back of the room.

"Crawdads ain't look too good today, but we got gumbo, and shrimp etouffée is the daily special. I'm Iolanthe. Y'all visitin' for Carnival?" she asked.

Harry finally found his voice. "Y-yes. Yeah. On holiday. Skivving off school actually."

"Cool! I just finished myself, last year. Haven't really decided what I want to do. Maybe law enforcement? In the meantime, I'm stuck workin' here. It's not too bad, we're not as crowded as the places on Bourbon Street, so plenty of time to be bored. Anyways, hey, I like your glasses. Lemme get your order. Y'all know whatcha wanna drink. We got Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper…"

"I'll have a Coke," said Draco.

"Me too," added Hermione. The rest of the group chose the same, and Iolanthe set off to the bar.

Harry raked his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.

"Harry? You don't think—" Ron began.

"I don't know what to think, Ron. One thing's sure; I think we've found what we were looking for."

"Do you think she knows who you are?" asked Dean. "I mean, do the Americans know about the war?"

"Alright now! Here's your drinks. Y'all know whatcha wanna eat?"

"Gumbo," replied Harry.

"Same here," added Hermione, Ron and Ginny.

"Muffuletta," said Draco. "With salt and vinegar crisps, please."

"Alright, sha. What about you guys?" she pointed to Épiphanie, Dean and Neville.

"What's good?" asked Neville. "It's my first visit."

"Well, most people come in here ahnvee for the jambalaya, ma beb. Can't go wrong with chicken, sausage, shrimp, and peppers in a thick roux with just the right amount of spices, over a bed of rice! Ooh la-la! Sa se bon!" She kissed her fingertips.

"Sounds good. I'll try that."

"Me too," said Dean.

"What 'bout you, beb?" she asked Épiphanie.

"Y'all got boudin?"

"Mais true! You want it with dutty rice?"

"Can I get it with macque choux?"

"Absolutely! Alright, so that's four gumbos, Muffuletta, two jambalaya, and boudin with maque choux. Comin' right up!" She left the table to put in their order, but before they could continue their conversation, the girl had returned with a basket of bread and butter.

"Pardon me, but I was curious about your logo?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, it's an old family emblem, I think. Been in our family for _years_ , on my Papa's side."

"So, you own the place?" asked Harry. "I mean your family?"

"Well, it's my brother's pub actually. My parents are apoth—um pharmacists. They specialize in naturopathic remedies." She seemed to miss the glances that were shared around the table. "So, hey, you guys are from England, huh?"

"Well, I'm not. My maman's people are from over by Metairie, but my dad is a diplomat over there, so I'm living with him while I go to school," Épiphanie lied easily.

"Oh, yeah? My maman and her people are from Lafayette, but my papa's from Massachusetts originally. His people are English—been here for centuries—since Grandpere Abe came to Salem waaay back in the Puritan days. Matter-fact, that's how I got my name. Ain't it commes les vieux? Iolanthe—I think it was the name of some aunt a few generations back over there.

"Order up!" the chef called out.

"Oh, my word! I'm just runnin' my mouth. Lemme see if this y'all food." She left the table again.

"You mean the Tale of the Three Brothers is _true?_ " Dean whispered excitedly. "You're their descendant?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant!"

"What are you going to do?" asked Neville. "The Americans _must_ know about the war! Surely they've seen your picture in the papers, right?"

"Just tell her you're related," said Épiphanie. "We're real big on making new relations down here."

"I don't—"

"Here we go!" Iolanthe placed their meals on the table. "I brought y'all some filé and Tabasco if ya want it. I'll be back with some drink refills. Bon apetit!" She left the table again.

"Épiphanie I can't just up and tell a complete stranger that we're related. She'll think I'm barmy!" Harry whispered.

"Look, that might be the case with you Brits, but in America—down here in the South—playin' 'Who Ya People?' is a pastime second only to football at LSU. Especially y'all white folks—Americans always want to know if they might have royal blood. I mean, look around—the mural—hell, she ran her history all the way back to the Salem Witch Trials! We need answers, and right now she's the best shot we have at learning what we need to know," she snapped. " _If you don't ask, I will!_ " she hissed.

"Zirondelle, there's no need for parseltongue. Calm down, my love." Draco placed his hand on Épiphanie's.

Iolanthe returned to the table again with a tray of refills for their drinks. She collected the empty glasses.

"How's the food? Was I right about the jambalaya?" she asked.

"It's delicious!" Neville exclaimed.

"So, Iolanthe, my friend Harry's last name is Potter. Wouldn't it be funny if you guys were distant relations?" Épiphanie suggested.

"For real? Do you have any American relations?" Iolanthe asked.

"I really don't know. My parents died when I was young, and I've only recently had reason to research my family history."

"But Harry, didn't you say that your great-great-whatever-generation-grandmother was named Iolanthe Potter?" asked Hermione. Iolanthe let out a gasp.

"Well, yes, but—"

"Oh, my God! You're—Come on!" Iolanthe seized him by the wrist and dragged him from the table towards the kitchen.

"No, wait!" Hermione exclaimed. Draco reached for his wand and made to stand, but Épiphanie grabbed his hand.

"Y'all just chill. I know what's going on. Let me out." She clambered over Draco and Dean and followed them.

"Ignace! Guess what!" Iolanthe burst into the kitchen. Harry was surprised to see that the only person there was a young man with black hair, who looked to be in his early twenties, wearing a chef's jacket. Several pots simmered on the stove, some with spoons stirring on their own. A row of knives chopped vegetables and carved meat on a table nearby. He wasn't sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a house elf scuttling into the pantry at the back of the room.

"Iolanthe! Dammit, what did I tell you about guests in here?" he bellowed.

"But Ignace! He's a Potter! From England! It's him!" she exclaimed.

"I'm so sorry, sir. My sister is always so excited about genealogy. I hope you enjoyed your meal. Tell your friends about us, won't you?" He began to herd them out, leaning close to her ear. "Do you know how many No-Majs are named Potter? Now you'll have to obliviate them!" he whispered.

"You don't have to obliviate anybody," said Harry. "I know what the symbol on your sign stands for and I can name The Three Brothers."

Ignace stared at Harry. "Prove it." He crossed his arms and stared at Harry suspiciously.

"Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell. Iolanthe Potter was the granddaughter of Ignotus. He is buried in the same graveyard as my parents. That symbol, the Deathly Hallows, is on his gravestone.

"You mean to tell me, that my cousin is Harry Potter? _The_ Harry Potter? Who defeated Voldemort?" Ignace asked stunned.

The group was now seated in a small apartment above the restaurant with Ignace and Iolanthe.

"Tom Riddle," Harry corrected. "This is Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy—Didn't I read something about—"

"Yes, but I assure you that Draco has been misrepresented in the press." Harry continued, "You may already know—"

"Wait a minute! I _knew_ you looked familiar!" Iolanthe exclaimed. "You're the Little Marie! What are you doing here? Word on the street was that you'd gone on a spiritual retreat. Are you a witch too? How come you didn't go to Ilvermorny? I feel so cheated—we could have been in the same house! Everybody at school always said you were probably a witch, even though there hasn't been one in the Glapion line in generations."

"Wow, girl! Do you have a pause button?" Épiphanie asked.

"Yeah, I'm super hyper. Drove my roommates crazy at school. So, how is it that you managed to get to go to Hogwarts? I thought they didn't admit exchange students."

"Welp! They do when your father is The Minister of Magic," Épiphanie smiled sheepishly.

"Whooaaa!"

"Okay, so listen, this whole family reunion thing is cool and all, but we're actually not here on vacation. We need some help, and I'm really hoping that we can trust you with the information I'm about to share."

She shared a slightly edited version of the events of the past week and the story of the Caduceus Wand.

"This is like-whoa! Like—" Iolanthe exclaimed. "Ignace, you think that's why the Aurors have been here?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"We don't exactly know, but for about the past two weeks, the Aurors have been through here asking if we have seen any new, or foreign wizards or witches come through here."

"They asked about foreign wizards specifically?" asked Hermione.

"Definitely," replied Ignace. "I would guess they've detected the use of unregistered wands or tracked the casting of hexes in the area. That's what happened last time."

"Last time?" asked Draco.

"Yeah, back in the spring—around May last year, there was an influx of unregistered wands in use. A few wizards and witches were arrested, right down in the Magic Quarter."

"What's the Magic Quarter?" asked Épiphanie.

"Girl, how you don't know about The Magic Quarter? It's the _heart_ of NOLA's wizarding community! Matter of fact, our pub is one of the gateways! Maman and Papa's Apothecary is there. You ain't never been there?" Iolanthe asked with disbelief.

"Raised by muggles—uh, what do you call them?—no-majs."

"Amazing!"

"The witches and wizards who were arrested, did they—"

"They were some of the darkest I've ever encountered," said Ignace. "There were some who came a few years back too. Maybe about three years ago, thereabouts. They were very interested in Madame Laveau. Wanted to know about her magic; her descendants. Maman and Papa were very worried that they would expose us to the No-majs. The Aurors came in and threatened to shut down the pub because they thought we were encouraging them. MACUSA has never particularly cared for wizards participating in the voodoo rituals because of the contact with no-majs, particularly when Picquery was President back in the twenties. Around that time, even no-maj voodoo went underground. New Orleans' wizarding community has benefitted from being partially open to the no-maj world, especially since the repeal of Rappaport's Law. The no-majs love the spectacle that they think is voodoo and divination. That's why there's so many tarot parlors and haunted tours. The most popular of them are run by wizards and witches. We know where the ghosts are, we know our potions, and herbology—even though no one's divination skills can match Épiphanie Glapion's. She was tapped to become the next voodoo queen." He smiled at her. Draco gave him a baleful look and took her hand. Ignace smirked and continued talking. "Even though Rappaport's Law was repealed in 1965, we're still cautioned to keep our magic closely guarded with regard to the Statute of Secrecy."

"So what happened to those wizards?" asked Hermione. She had an idea already, however.

"Just disappeared midway through the year."

"Riddle," Harry said. The others nodded.

"So what's your plan?" asked Iolanthe.

"If we can't identify who The Servant is before Mardi Gras night, we're going to have to be prepared to stop him before he can set dementors on the crowds and raise the Inferi. St. Louis number One is far too close to the Quarter," said Épiphanie.

"But you don't have a wand," said Ignace. "How do expect to fight without a wand?"

 _Expelliarmus._

His wand flew out of his pocket and into her hand.

"Okay, that was cute, but—" he said when as she passed his wand back.

"Darling, would you?"

"Of course, my love!" Draco gave her a peck on the cheek, then waved his wand. "Serpensortia." A large snake appeared on the coffee table in front of them. Ignace and Iolanthe leapt back in their seats, Ignace nearly toppling his chair.

 _Vipera Evanesca_

The snake vanished into a trail of black smoke.

 _Shall I continue, or should we talk about how you're considering turning us over to the Aurors? I can assure you that would be a very bad choice._ Épiphanie let out a bored sigh. "You know my reputation, B. I'm almost insulted."

"Believe us, you should trust her. Her magic is much more powerful than it appears," said Harry. "That's just a sample. You do _not_ want to make her angry."

"Or suffer her cruciatus," added Draco.

"Okay. I get it. So, what can we do?"

"We need eyes and ears on the ground. I can't exactly be out in the streets, seeing as we're all in the country illegally, and you said the Aurors are on the watch. If people are coming through here to enter the Magic Quarter, you would know, right? Anything you hear, particularly about English wizards. The one who stole the wand is called Theodore Nott. Kinda rangy looking with brown hair. A total asshat. Thinks he's above everyone. He's also an animagus—a kestrel."

"Well, if he's rich, he'll probably be at the La Laurie Mansion."

"What?" Épiphanie stared at him in shock.

"That's where the dark witches and wizards tend to congregate. Anatole Blanque, one of her descendants, keeps a private club there and provides accommodations to witches and wizards of a certain ilk." He rubbed his fingers to simulate money.

"But it's _haunted_! And what about the tours? You mean Madame La Laurie was a witch?"

"I think she might have been the only witch in the South to keep no-majs as slaves. How she managed it without violating the Statute of Secrecy and Rappaport's law is beyond me. But yes, she was a witch. Now, as far as the tours go, nobody ever goes to the third floor, the legend is so embedded in people's minds, they're afraid to go up there. I sure as hell ain't goin' over there."

"Daaaaamn!"

"Who was Madame La Laurie?" asked Dean.

"Unh-unh. I don't talk about her. You wanna know about her, look it up. Just thinking about that lady gives me nightmares!" Épiphanie shuddered.

"With the carnival going on, they're going to be drawn out. It's the perfect time to start some mayhem without being found out. It happens every year. The parades are going on, and people end up stunned, dead for no reason—at least that the no-majs can understand—women are attacked, but can't remember what happened. Folk get robbed. The no-maj police put it off to people being drunk or high. There's even been duels over in Congo Square."

"But some of that's been a little reduced since the Krewe formed," said Iolanthe.

"What Krewe?" asked Épiphanie.

"The Mystic Krewe of Hallows."

"You can't be serious?" Harry groaned. "They're not setting up to search for The Hallows, are they?"

"Well, up until today, we thought The Hallows were just a legend passed down in the family," said Ignace. "No, the Mystic Krewe of Hallows is an order of witches and wizards that formed around the time those dark wizards came asking about Madame Laveau. We wanted to protect ourselves and the no-majs. It was stupid really, a bunch of kids who had just come of age and were reading about you, Harry, in _The Quibbler—_ "

"You read _The Quibbler?_ " Draco scoffed. Épiphanie poked him in the side.

"All the kids at Ilvermorny had subscriptions. It was like _Mad Magazine_ ," Ignace replied.

"What's _Mad Magazine?_ " asked Ron.

"Shh!" Hermione hissed.

"Anyway, when your interview came out, Harry. We knew there might be a connection because attacks on no-majs had suddenly increased between the summer of ninety-five and the appearance of the article, but MACUSA didn't act. We wondered if they were aligning with the stance of the Ministry of Magic, because The _Ghost_ wasn't publishing much either, just scant reports that quoted The _Prophet._ Some of my friends and I, along with a peeshwank, who threatened to snitch—" he cut his eyes at Iolanthe. "got together and walked the quarter and the Tremé. Sometimes we would fly out over the bayou and track the rougarou. It made us feel like we were doing something."

"How good are your dueling skills?" asked Draco. "Because I assure you that the Death Eaters were killers of the highest order. If this Servant has an entourage, they will not hesitate to cast a killing curse."

"Are you saying you think we can help?" Iolanthe asked.

"I assume that's why you brought it up," said Harry. "But Draco is right. We need to see how well you can duel or cast a patronus. If The Servant isn't alone, and I doubt he would be, then you have to be prepared."

"Well, I can see who's up for it. My patnas so tete dure, they'll be dere."

"We also need someplace discreet to gather. Someplace not in the Magic Quarter."

"That's easy. Gimme till tonight. How can I get in touch with you?" Ignace asked.

"We're not easy to find, but if you can send a message by patronus—"

"Yeah, I can do that. Mine's a bat."

"Brilliant."

"Dinner rush is about to start, I should get back down to the kitchen. Y'all can apparate from here. I wouldn't chance Aurors being downstairs."

Ignace and Iolanthe packed a few meals for the group to take back with them, and the group apparated back to La Maison Blanche to await word of how many volunteers they might receive. They busied themselves assisting Épiphanie to air out and prepare accommodations for everyone to sleep. As the group worked, a succession of ghosts appeared throughout the afternoon, all seeking counsel with Épiphanie and Madame Laveau.

The old ghost invited them into a small room off the parlor. In her lifetime, it had been her pantheon—where the voodoo queen had performed her rituals, and attended to those in need. The young witch tried to assure them that they were doing their best to prevent an attack and preserve the sanctity of their remains. Épiphanie was successful in persuading a few to seek shelter in one of the outer cemeteries until the threat could be eliminated, but many were afraid they would not be safe and did not wish to be away from their crypts or the locations to which they were connected. Finally, as the sun was beginning to set, Madame Laveau called a halt to the meetings and promised that they would be informed as soon as the group had a secure plan.

Épiphanie walked around the room for a moment, taking in all of the artefacts that her ancestor had used in teaching her magic. She didn't know at the time that she was growing into herself as a witch. She thought only that she was learning the practical magic of becoming a priestess. It wasn't a very large room, and in fact it was rather plain in comparison to the other rooms, but it radiated powerful magic. She knelt in the middle of the room reciting her prayers and novenas. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and let out a gasp as the image of The Servant came to her.

In the parlor, the group sat sharing a dinner of the food that Ignace and Iolanthe had prepared for them and discussing the events of the day.

"Who would have thought that Harry would have family in America?" Ron exclaimed. "I wonder how it is that the family did not keep in contact. I never thought about international post outside of Europe."

"Ignace said something about Abraham Potter being one of the original twelve American Aurors. Of them, only two actually lived to old age. Perhaps the families lost touch in the intervening years after his death," said Hermione.

"Do you _always_ have an answer for everything?" Draco teased.

Suddenly, the sliding doors that divided the parlor from the other room where Épiphanie was kneeling in meditation slammed shut, startling the group. Draco was the first out of his seat.

"Épiphanie!" he called out, and tried to open the door. "Épiphanie!" He banged on the door. "Alohamora!" he pointed his wand. The door did not budge.

"Aberto!" Hermione pointed her wand, to no effect. "Portaberto!" A small burn mark appeared on the door's lock, but was equally ineffective. "Bombarda!" Still no luck.

They pounded desperately on the door, calling out to Épiphanie. The closest to the door shivered with the sensation of being drenched in ice, and Hermione let out a shriek when Madame Laveau passed through the door.

"Why are you so distressed, mes enfants?"

"The door—"

"Yes?"

"Épiphanie—"

"She's fine. I promise. This is a magic unknown to you. It is best that it stays that way."

They nervously watched the doors for the next few hours, afraid to speak. Draco stood motionless, staring at the doors as if he could will them to open, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. As the hour moved toward eleven, Épiphanie finally emerged. Draco pulled her violently into a strong embrace. He cradled her face in his hands and searched her eyes.

"Are you okay, my love?" he demanded, his eyes full of worry.

"I'm fine." She gave him a soft kiss and stepped out of his embrace.

"The Servant and his faction are here." She held up her hand before anyone could speak. "I have a plan. Ignace should be sending his patronus at any minute."

As if on cue, a bright silvery orb appeared and formed itself into a bat that flew in a tight circle above their heads.

" _The Mystic Krewe of Hallows is ready. Bring brooms and please apparate to the second floor parlor of The Three Brothers at midnight."_ The bat flew around the room once and vanished.

"Okay, we have an hour. Everybody needs a little time to rest. We don't know how late we'll be out," Harry instructed.

"Have a cigar, Dean," Épiphanie said, going to the sideboard and opening a humidor.

"Huh? Uh, I don't smoke," he said.

"You do now. Draco, my love. Your job is to show Dean the proper way to cut, light and puff a Cohiba."

"Zirondelle, you really want to ruin a fine cigar with such a task?" Draco looked at her dubiously.

"Absolutely. I have faith that you will not waste my stock. You have one hour." She tossed him a Zippo lighter and left the room.

"What the hell is this?" Draco asked. Dean snatched it out of his hand.

"It's a lighter."

Épiphanie did not return to the parlor until it was time to return to The Three Brothers. The group inquired as to what the plan would be, but again, she refused to explain.

"There are more pressing matters at hand. I promise, I'll let you all in on it when the time is right."

They apparated to the apartment above the Three Brothers and were met by Ignace, Iolanthe and another witch and wizard.

"The others will meet us at the rendezvous point," said Ignace. "This is Stella Montague and Michel Moreau. I think you know them, Épiphanie."

"We went to St. Peter Claver School with you. You helped get rid of Father Baker," said Michel.

"Did he—?" Épiphanie shuddered.

"My sister," said Michel.

"My cousin," said Stella.

"And you're magical?" she asked. They smiled.

"Our parents are no-majs. It was when we got to Ilvermorny and learned about legilimency, we knew how you figured it out," said Michel.

"We're here to help. We want to show our thanks."

"Okay, we're going out to the bayou," said Ignace. "It's easier to get there if we fly. Y'all got brooms?"

Everyone went into their satchel and pulled out a broom.

"Undetectable Extension Charms! Nice! We should disillusion ourselves just to be safe, since we're leaving from the city. We're heading north along the river for about four miles. That should be far enough out to drop the disillusionment and you can follow us."

They took off from the balcony of the building and headed north, after a short ride away from the lights of the city, they could see Ignace and the others reappear. They dropped their disguises and followed them for another several miles, finally descending into an opening in the trees below. They landed in a large clearing surrounded by tall trees. Nearby, the sound of water lapping at the land could be heard. It was pitch dark and the wizards lit their wands.

"Come on, outta dere! Let's make veiller!" Iolanthe called.

There was a rustling in the trees and wandlights appeared among the branches and trunks, growing brighter as about ten people stepped into the clearing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you The Mystic Krewe of Hallows," Ignace announced. "Members of the Krewe, we are honored to be in the presence of Harry Potter and his compatriots from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As you know, these powerful wizards successfully aided in the ultimate defeat of Tom Riddle, known to the world as Lord Voldemort. Also, our very own Little Marie—Épiphanie Glapion has returned to us and confirmed the rumors that have floated about New Orleans in the past sixteen years. She is one of us, and a formidable one. They have received a prophecy that a grave threat is upon our fair Crescent City. A dark wizard seeks to attack one of our most revered traditions—the Shrovetide—placing both wizards and no-majs at risk and undoubtedly inciting a war of epic proportions. They have allied with the Dementors to threaten the souls of our good folk, and intend to desecrate our cities of the dead in order to build an army of Inferi. We must not let that happen!"

A general shout rang out.

"Okay, uh, Ignace that was very…patriotic. Thank you, anyway, most of you guys probably know me. I'm Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt. Yes, it's true I'm a witch. I'm also the descendant of Marie Laveau. Let me start with this— _under no circumstances_ is anyone to know that we are here. Right now, we hold the advantage, in that they believe we are beaten, because they have what they wanted from me, and that is my wand. Presently, I hope, officials at Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic don't know that we have departed. The MACUSA appears to be aware that there are unregistered wands in the area and Aurors are about. If you know anything about me, you know that I am a highly skilled legilimens, if you have any designs on betraying us, I will know—and I will make sure that you pay." Épiphanie's voice dropped sharply as she uttered these last words. "I am developing a plan of attack, and what we need to do now is determine what your skills are, so that we can decide how best to exploit them."

She turned to a muscular young wizard who appeared to be a few years older than the others. "What's your name? Aaron?"

"Y-yeah." He replied.

"If you think this was a bad choice on your part, then you probably shouldn't be here."

"I'm good. That's not it, it's just that—"

"Don't worry about the fact that I don't have a wand, I'm more than competent to protect myself."

"She is," said her friends, in unison.

"Okay, who knows how to cast a patronus?" asked Harry. About half of the group raised their hands. "Brilliant. Come this way." He led them off to one side of the clearing with Iolanthe.

"Draco, if you would be so kind as to assess dueling skills with Neville?" Draco and Neville moved to the other side of the clearing with the rest of the members of the Krewe.

"Ginny, Ron, Dean, Hermione, I need to talk to you." She led them into the trees. "I have a plan, but I need you guys to undertake a couple of important tasks for me."

"What's that?" asked Hermione.

"You can cast protection spells, right?" She looked at Hermione.

"Yes."

"We know that the dementors are coming, so I need you to find out who else in the Krewe can help you with that—probably Iolanthe. We need a strong one that will cover the entire quarter, especially Bourbon Street. That's where the most people will be, and that's where the dementors will likely strike first." Épiphanie turned to Ginny.

"I hear your spells are pretty powerful," she said. Ginny shrugged. "Think you can cast a firestorm?"

"I can try."

"It needs to be strong, Ginny. I'm hoping we can end this before he can summon the inferi, but we need to be prepared."

"Wait, you're not sending my little sister up against Inferi!" Ron protested.

"Really, Ron? I survived The Battle too! I will not be left behind again!" Ginny argued.

"Ron, I wouldn't ask her to do it, if I wasn't confident in her abilities, and I have no plans for her to face the Inferi alone. The Servant won't attempt to call out the dead until he's sure that the dementors are successful. Now, as for you and Dean, you're not afraid of snakes are you?"

She explained in detail what she wanted them to do. "Dean, you'll be disguised, and Ron can use Harry's invisibility cloak."

"Épiphanie!" Harry called out. The returned to the clearing.

"How's it looking?" she asked.

"At least half of them can conjure a corporeal patronus. The rest have at least a passing skill that will be of some help. The dueling looks good over there." They watched as Stella easily fended spells from both Draco and Neville. Another witch took down Ignace with a charged up Flipendo jinx.

Suddenly, the clearing lit up in a blaze of light. Everyone went for cover and whisked out their wands. Standing on a large rock that jutted out in the middle of the bayou a few yards away from the island on which they were standing, Ginny whipped her wand around in a circle above her head. A stream of fire erupted from it and rose up to form a barrier around her. The bright flames illuminating her long red hair made her appear to be a fiery maiden.

"Holy, hell!" exclaimed Ignace.

"Yep, that about says it." Épiphanie nodded, respectfully. "You still worried about your 'baby sister,' Ron?" He shook his head slowly.

Ginny broke the spell and apparated back into the clearing and Épiphanie carefully explained the levels of the plan, dividing specific responsibilities.

"That's a lot of moving parts, Épiphanie, and a great risk to you," said Harry.

"It will work if everyone does their part. The key is to keep the dementors away from the muggles in the streets while we neutralize The Servant and his posse before they can attack the cemeteries, especially St. Louis No. 1. It's right in the Tremé."

"But why not work it out with legilimency?" he asked.

"It's better to use it in the first phase; then it will be easier to shake their defenses. If that's the only thing we use, it might rattle them, but it won't stop them. Trust me. This will weed out the weaker ones and draw The Servant and the others into action." She stood up and addressed the group again. "Is there anyone among you who is a devotee?"

Two of the witches in the Krewe-Elizabeth, a petite black girl with long dreadlocks, and Cecile, a stocky blonde stepped forward. Four of the wizards—Gerald and Dominiq, Creole brothers; Michel, and to her surprise, Aaron—joined them.

"Perfect! Come on." Épiphanie waved her hand over her head, and her clothes transformed into robes of white. The devotees waved their wands, transforming their clothes as well, and she led them out of the clearing and into the woods, the darkness enveloping them. The English wizards made to follow them, but Ignace stopped them.

"No. Rituals are private. She'll likely have cast a protection spell around them anyway. Let's just wait." He conjured a few glass jars and set bluebell flames inside. The remaining witches and wizards settled on the ground and attempted to make friendly conversation. In the distance, they could faintly hear singing. Draco paced restlessly near the water's edge. Harry joined him.

"She knows who The Servant is," said Draco.

"You think so?"

"She's been in my head since before we met. Once I learned that it was her, I let her have a little free will, and I talk to her sometimes to see if she's there. Since she came out of that room, she seems like she's trying to distract me, keeping my mind busy."

"She's blocking me out too. If she's distracting you, she must think that you suspect who The Servant may be," Harry suggested. " _Oh, please don't do that! We don't mean to intrude on your space. We'll be moving along presently_."

Draco gave Harry an odd look, wondering what suddenly prompted him to speak in parseltongue, and sprang back when he saw a snake slither between them and into the water.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. "She was coiling into a defensive posture. I guess we interrupted the nest somewhere out here."

"You know, I was jealous when I found out you could speak parseltongue. Right now, I'm _really_ jealous."

"I suppose it is rather useful in a place like this," he chuckled. They stood silently, looking at the black water where the snake had disappeared.

"Really, Potter!" Draco growled. "Just because I let her in, doesn't mean you're invited."

"Sorry. But you suspect—" Harry began. Draco let out a sigh.

"Yes."

They heard movement and saw Épiphanie returning with the group she had taken with her. They extinguished the jarred flames and everyone scattered, apparating to their respective homes and hideouts for the night.

The next day was spent in tense preparation, Épiphanie gave Dean and Neville a list of items to procure, and each took a flask of polyjuice, transforming themselves into middle-aged tourists before they left. Hermione and Ginny apparated to the apartment above The Three Brothers where Iolanthe gave them picnic baskets packed with food and soft drinks from Ignace. Everyone had completed their sojourns by midday and settled in for a quiet lunch. They opened the windows to hear the strains of music from yet another parade in the quarter.

"I think I should like to return next year and take part in this amazing carnival!" said Neville, standing by the window.

"You should! And also visit the celebrations in Mobile, over in Alabama. It's the oldest Mardi Gras in the country." Épiphanie passed a cigar to Dean. He lit it, puffing thoughtfully. "You look much more comfortable now than you did yesterday," she said to him. "Less green." She winked.

A pall fell over the room as they were all lost in their own thoughts. Hermione was curled in a chair with a book. Ron sat on the floor in front of her, charming a small wooden figurine to dance. On one sofa, Harry studied The Marauder's Map, watching The Headmistress and Heads of House for any signs that they'd been missed. Ginny lay with her head in his lap, reading a magazine. Draco pulled Épiphanie into his arms on the other sofa. She rested her head on his chest and he stroked her hair. As the silence hung over the room, Épiphanie recognized a common thread to their thoughts. All of them were lost in another place in time.

"Why don't you talk about it," she said.

"Talk about what?" asked Draco.

"The war. You're all thinking about it. You all want to know what it was like for the others—the uncertainty. The solitude."

They all gave her curious looks before Ron spoke.

"We heard you, Dean."

"What?" Dean looked up from the picture that he was drawing. "What do you mean you heard me? I didn't say anything."

"Not now. Back then. When you were on the run with Griphook. You were talking right outside our campsite. We had it under protective enchantments," said Hermione.

Dean stared at them in disbelief.

"I don't think the Resistance would have survived without Neville in the Room of Requirement," said Ginny. "Creating that tunnel to the Hogshead."

"Even if Aberforth's cooking was of the troll variety," Neville laughed.

Draco remained silent as the others shared their tales of the resistance. No one encouraged him to speak. He shared a look with Harry, who nodded with understanding. What could he say that was worth anything? He felt like he had been a puppet during that year. His moves weren't his own. He simply followed the orders that he was given and tried to act as if everything was okay. There was no one to talk to. No one he could trust to understand his ambivalence. He could keep moving like the puppet master required, or be tossed into the fire until he was nothing but a memory carried away in the soot and the smoke. It was the death that he had longed for at the time. It was that same longing for death that had brought him ultimately to this place. Now, he had to decide if he was strong enough to sacrifice himself for these people who had been willing to sacrifice themselves even for him back then.

He summoned his hookah and transfigured it for two hoses. He and Épiphanie each took a hose and curled into each other.

"May I try?" asked Neville. Draco waved his wand and the hookah became larger, a third hose curling from it. Neville sat on the floor and took a puff, holding the vapor for nearly a minute before exhaling what seemed to be an endless cloud.

"Bloody hell, Neville!" Draco exclaimed. "I never figured you for the type."

"Well, I have a rather nice assortment of cannabis plants actually. I prefer the indica variety for making hashish. It's much more potent."

"Oh, my God! Neville, you a dough boy!" Épiphanie giggled. "You got a stash in Professor Sprout's greenhouse?"

"I don't grow any at school, but I cultivate a nice crop at my greenhouse at home and I have some for personal use at school. I'd be happy to give you a few samples or make you some shisha. I don't think Professor Sprout would like me tampering with hers."

"Professor Sprout grows marijuana?" Hermione sat up and stared at him in disbelief. Épiphanie burst out laughing.

"Oh, shit! That's why she's head of _Hufflepuff!_ " Tears sprang to her eyes. Draco and Ginny started laughing.

"Merlin! Is that why you and Hannah started dating?" Ginny teased.

"Does Hannah get blazed too?" Épiphanie asked.

The mood lightened considerably in the room as the English branch of The Mystic Krewe of Hallows relaxed with each other and began to compare wizarding and muggle life, English and American traditions. Draco and Épiphanie pulled out a stereo and Épiphanie shared some traditional New Orleans Mardi Gras jazz music and they all got up to dance.

Passersby on the street paused and inquired of one another about the strange occurrence taking place at the broken down house with the historic plaque.

"Can you hear it?" one woman asked.

"That's where Marie Laveau had her house." A man pointed to the marker. "They say it's haunted."

"I'm telling you, there's music coming from over there."

"Well, I'm not getting any closer. Far be it from me to disturb a ghost's Mardi Gras celebrations. Come on, we'll miss the parade."


	31. Dreamless Sleep

_**Dreamless Sleep**_

As the night grew long over La Maison Blanche, Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione retired to the guest rooms and Neville and Dean bedded down on the sofas in the parlor, magically expanding them so that each of the tall young men could sleep comfortably. Épiphanie took Draco's hand and led him into Madame Laveau's boudoir, closing the door.

She went to a small table in the corner where a tray was set with crystal decanters and matching glasses. Épiphanie poured two fingers of scotch into a glass and swirled it around. She crossed the room to where Draco sat in a deep chair, his eyes vacant. She handed him the glass and he drank it, absently. She crawled into his lap, straddling his legs, and leaned down to kiss him, inhaling the alcohol on his breath.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy. You don't have to be afraid." She cradled his face in her hands.

"I'm not worthy of you," he whispered.

"You are." She rocked her hips into his and kissed him passionately, pulling his hair until he let his head fall back. She kissed his throat, and he gripped her hips, lifting her as he stood. Épiphanie wrapped her legs around Draco and allowed him to carry her to the bed.

He gently laid her on the soft bed and made haste of vanishing their clothes. Épiphanie pulled him into her as soon as he came near, and crushed her lips against his, clinging to him desperately. Draco felt her intense magic flowing into him. He wished for the night to go on forever as they became one. He begged the moon to swallow the sun and wrap them in the stars, so that their love would never end, and they would join the constellations in the heavens, entwined as they were forever. Épiphanie arched into him as he explored every inch of her golden mahogany skin and plunged into the deepest recesses of her very being.

"If I were to die tonight," he whispered. "I wish to fall like this."

"If we fall, we fall together." She breathed. Golden fingers glided over pearl skin, memorizing every sinew, every scar, every curve.

"I was nothing before you. I am nothing without you!" Tears wet his face, falling against her flesh like acid burning her soul.

"What am I, Draco, my love!" She opened herself fully to him, and pulled herself taut, drawing him deep.

"My divine insight. My Épiphanie!"

"I know your heart, Draco. Who am I?"

"I'm not worthy." Draco felt her constrict around him, drawing out his essence. He slowed his fraught merging into her, desperate to prolong their connection. "Don't let me go!" he choked out.

"You knew me before you knew me. Who am I, Draco?"

"Please, My Dragonfly!" He gasped, his fingers tangling in her hair. He was drowning. "Ma Zirondelle, don't let me go." He struggled to breathe, clinging desperately to her.

"If we fall, we fall together! Who am I, Draco?"

Draco shuddered, and suddenly his lungs filled with air. He threw his head back and closed his eyes. Images flashed before his eyes like the moving pictures they watched at the cinema only weeks before. He saw the beautiful girl on the bench beside the river…the statuesque dancer in the street…the witch on the train …spiraling through the clouds around each other like phoenixes in heaven…toasting with Harry…The Lady gazing at him as they danced, like he was the only man in the world…

"You are me, and I am you!"

She exhaled slowly, drawing him into paradise, pouring her magic into him. "Do you believe that, Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes!" he breathed.

"Will you remember me?"

"Always."

Theodore Nott tossed and turned uncomfortably. The rooms were lush and comfortable, and they had been afforded every possible luxury by the wizard, Anatole Blanque, but he was beginning to feel a sense of unease. He had never killed anyone before. Now there were two—maybe three bodies on his wand! He'd done the deed with Draco's wand, but no one would believe that he'd cast the killing curse on himself. His only job was to get her wand and he had done that, but now he was a wanted man wasn't he? Had he murdered the daughter of the Minister of Magic, the son of The Servant, and _Merlin—Harry Potter?_ There was nowhere that he could hide. Surely the Ministry had alerted the MACUSA. He had seen the Aurors when they arrived in the Magic Quarter. It was only a matter of time before they had them cornered and he would be the sacrificial lamb. After all, _their_ wands were not set to the deed. He opened his eyes and sat up in bed. Someone was there.

" _Oh, Theodore, you've been a bad boy!" The voice whispered._

"Who said that?" Nott whispered. He reached for his wand, but as his fingers curled around it, it was snatched away.

" _No peeking."_ She said.

"Who's there?" he attempted to make his voice more threatening. "You'll have to kill me."

" _She's coming for you._ " The voice was different now. Was it male?

"Two of you? Can't win on your own?"

" _Lumos._ "

Nott pressed himself against the headboard. A tall black man with a face half-hidden behind dark glasses and white paint, and wearing a top hat and tuxedo stared at him. A cigar dangled from his mouth.

" _Nox!"_

"Wait! Who are you?"

" _The Cities of the Dead belong to Baron Samedi. You may only enter through me, boi!_ " The voice was next to his ear. Nott cringed away, nearly falling from the bed.

" _Oh, Theodore, what have you done?_ " The voice was female now.

"Wait, what?"

" _Lumos._ "

Nott fell from the bed this time. It couldn't be! It looked like her, but she was different. Her clothing…a cloth wrapped elaborately about her hair and a dress of pure white that fell to the floor. Then he saw it—a large snake draped about her neck, its head resting in the palm of her hand.

"É-Epiphanie?"

" _Do not speak of my descendant!"_ The woman screamed. " _You defiled her, and you must pay!_ "

The room went dark again.

" _Tell The Servant that he will_ never _be The Dark Lord!"_ The male voice spoke again. " _She is coming!_ "

Nott gasped and sat up in bed, his heart pounding as he lit his wand. He looked desperately around the room. There was no one. The bed covers were soaked with his sweat and he trembled uncontrollably.


	32. …And When You Move, Fall Like Thunder

_**…**_ _ **And When You Move, Fall Like a Thunderbolt**_

"I'm telling you, we mustn't do it!" Nott insisted, begging the others.

"Why did you bring this foolish boy along?" asked Anatole Blanque.

"It's only a matter of time before the Aurors would come looking for him. I don't trust him to keep his mouth shut."

"Then simply dispatch him altogether. I shall be happy to do the deed."

"Now, Anatole, it was my understanding that your government keeps an eye out for such things. We certainly need not draw any more attention to ourselves than the boy has already created. Besides, he may prove useful yet."

"But the woman, she said Épiphanie was her descendant!" Nott insisted. "She was with a man—tall, wearing a top hat! His face—"

Anatole Blanque laughed. "Baron Samedi? And Marie Laveau came to _you_?"

The other wizards at the banquet laughed.

"Have some whiskey, boy. Clearly the stress is getting to you. It was only a dream! Marie Laveau is long gone! Her body lies in the City of the Dead, and tonight it will rise with the others at the end of Ordinary Time!"

"She will be raised by her own wand and join our army of Inferi!" said The Servant. "She will march ahead of those forces as a demonstration of our strength!"

"They said to tell you that you will never be The Dark Lord," said Nott, tossing back the whiskey.

 _Crucio!_ The boy was flipped from his chair and thrashed in agony on the floor. Screaming in torment as the other wizards looked on and laughed.

"And you will never live to see old age, if you _ever_ speak of him in my presence again!"

There was a soft pop, followed by three more, and four figures appeared in the corners of the room. They were dressed all in white, their faces painted white, the women with their hair covered in turbans. The wizards all turned their attention to the still figures, wands drawn.

"What is the meaning of this?" Anatole demanded. "This is a private party!"

One of the males began to sing in a rich voice. "You'd better hush!" and the women joined in.

"Hush!" echoed a deeper voice.

"Hush!" The call.

"Hush!" The response.

"Somebody's callin' my name… Hush! Somebody's callin' my name!"

"Hush…hush…Hush..hush…Somebody's calling my name, crying Oh, my Lord! Oh, my Lord, what shall I do?...What shall I do?"

"Then you can call on your mother, but your mother can't do you no good!...Call, on your mother! Your mother can't do you no good! Call on your mother, but your mother can't do you no good! Cryin' Oh, my Lord! Oh, my Lord, what shall I do! What Shall I do? Shhhhhh!"

The figures exploded into dust.

"Oh, very good, Blanque!" The Servant clapped. "Did you orchestrate this with the boy? I almost feel guilty for cursing him now! If only he hadn't thrown the girl from the tower and killed my son!"

"I—" Anatole began.

 _Flagrate_

A fiery line appeared and began to form an image. It was a rudimentary drawing of a large central cross marked with Xs and flanked on each side by coffins.

A voice filled the room.

" _She is coming_!"

The wizards in the room grew quiet, staring around the room. A soft, sibilant voice hissed very close to The Servant's ear.

" _Really, Lucius! Have I taught you nothing?_ "

Lucius Malfoy flinched, his pale face went completely white. "It can't be! Y-you're dead!"

" _And yet, here we are!_ "

The room went dark.

" _She is coming!_ "

The lights returned with a whoosh, and a tall black man attired in a formal tuxedo and top hat stood in the center of the room. His face was a skeletal white and he leaned on an ornate cane while puffing lazily on a cigar.

"You may not enter my Cities of the Dead! Neither may you take my sheep!" he exclaimed.

" _You were too much of a coward to seek me when first I fell, Lucius! And now that I am vanquished a last, you seek to take my place?_ "

"I did not resurrect the Dark Lord," the figure pointed at him. "and I will not dig your grave, Lucius! She is coming!"

" _Tsk, tsk, Lucius! Weak and callous! A manipulative rat! What did you promise these wizards, Lucius? Money? They see the way you tremble at the very sound of my voice! These men are already plotting your demise!"_ he hissed.

"Come, my protégé!"

 _Flagrate_

The fiery line appeared again, this time it formed the vévé of Marie Laveau. A cloud of smoke appeared and the dignified woman stepped out of the haze, draped in white robes, an elaborate wrap of cloth about her head and a massive snake coiled about her neck, its head resting in her palm. Now, several of the wizards fell prostrate in her presence.

" _Marie Laveau lives, and your young minion defiled her descendant."_

"See how they worship me beyond the grave, Lucius? You are not the puppet master that the Dark Lord was," she said.

" _She warned you,_ _that which enables a powerful wizard to achieve things beyond the reach of the ordinary, is foreknowledge. For the wise man delights in establishing his merit, the brave man likes to show his courage in action, the covetous man is quick at seizing advantages, and the stupid man has no fear of death._ "

"As Ordinary Time marches towards its end, so shall you!

Another cloud of smoke burst forth and out of the haze, stepped Harry and Draco. Ron whipped off the invisibility cloak, grinning wickedly at the startled Lucius, and moved to join his comrades

"Hello, Lucius." Draco sneered at his father who stared in astonished embarrassment.

Épiphanie snatched off the cloth covering her head, her long curls falling down her back.

"Get them!" Lucius bellowed.

 _Expulso!_

The room filled with blue light and every table in the room exploded, throwing the wizards in attendance into chaos. The trio of young wizards vanished in a haze of dust.

Épiphanie, Draco and Harry mounted their brooms as soon as they apparated onto the roof of the La Laurie mansion and kicked off into the night.

"Periculum!" Harry pointed his wand into the air and red sparks burst forth.

They flew downriver with a squad of dark wizards in pursuit, firing spells. A blast of red shot past Draco and he fired off a shield just before it was able to hit Harry in the back. The trio split off in three directions. Draco and Harry rolled right and left respectively, while Épiphanie spiraled straight upwards and executed a barreling loop as she reversed direction.

"Aqua Eructo!"

"Ebublio!"

Draco and Harry hit the wizard attempting to pursue Épiphanie and he swelled up grotesquely before exploding into bubbles.

As the people danced in the streets to the music of marching bands, their hands outstretched for prizes and beads from the revelers on the balconies above them, Neville, Hermione, Ginny and Iolanthe crouched low as they ran along the rooftops above the parade routes.

"Protego Maxima!" Neville and Iolanthe pointed their wands skyward.

"Protego Horribilis!" Hermione and Ginny pointed their wands at the sky.

There was a rushing noise as a veil of bluish white began to form above them.

"We have to get back before the shield is complete!" Épiphanie yelled. She flattened herself on her broomstick and shot forward, heading straight for the wizards hurtling in their direction. Anatole Blanque pointed his wand at her.

"Everte Statum!" the spell hit him from the side as the trio was joined by Ignace and Stella, Blanque was hurled from his broom and fell into the river.

"The dementors made it inside! The devotees are pinned down at Congo Square!" Ignace yelled.

The five members of the Krewe raced to beat the rapidly arching shield while they battled the wizards still in pursuit of them.

Harry pulled up and attempted an ascent, when a jet of fire ignited the tail of his broom. Draco raced ahead and grabbed Harry's collar, yanking him onto his broom. Épiphanie pulled hard and reversed direction, hovering as the pursuing wizards raced towards her.

 _Flipendo Tria!_ The force of the miniature tornado created a waterspout from the river that consumed the pursuing wizards.

"Let's go!" They disillusioned themselves as they reached the city lights and entered the protective enchantments just before the shield completed itself.

Harry slid from Draco's broom atop the roof of a building along Bourbon Street and Ignace landed on the opposite side of the street. Harry's footing was unsteady as a sheen of frost coated the rooftop.

"Shit!" Harry thrust his wand into the air. "Expecto Patronum!" He waved the wand in a repeating circle and a blast of silver light issued forth, out of which stepped a large stag. Ignace cast his patronus and the tiny bat circled in the air.

"Wow! Either the city has way too much discretionary money for light shows, or I need to stop drinking absinthe!" the wobbly tourist said when he looked up to see a silver stag appear on the roof of the building above him, followed by a bat, a Horse, an otter, a Jack Russell terrier, and a tiger on down the street. "I love Mardi Gras!" he exclaimed and passed out on the curb.

When Draco and Épiphanie landed in Congo Square, they were immediately enveloped by an icy cold and an impenetrable darkness was encroaching. Draco shuddered and looked at his love. She gave him a smile and dropped her broom. Around them, the other members of the Krewe of Hallows were battling mightily against The Servants. Dean sent several stunners in Lucius' direction, all of which were handily fended off. Draco dove at the boy, still dressed as the lwa, and snatched him behind a large tree as a blast of green shot past them and shattered the window of a car parked on the street.

"Merlin! Thanks, man!" The Gryffindor and the Slytherin crouched low and pointed their wands.

Épiphanie stood in the center of the square and closed her eyes as the combatants battled around her in the encroaching darkness. She shivered and took a deep breath calling forth the image of her beloved as he cradled her face in his slender hands, holding her aspect in his intense gaze. His abiding devotion filled her heart and she raised her hands, bringing them down in overlapping circles. The entire space was bathed in blinding silver light out of which burst a gigantic dragon. Its immense tail whipped around as its massive wings beat back and forth. The dementors were drawn to the intense power of the silvery beast and the surrounding fighters began to draw strength to battle on. Épiphanie concentrated on pouring all of her energy into the dragon.

"Draco! That was quite a display of theatrics! But really! Fighting alongside a Gryffindor?" _Incarcerous!_ Lucius pointed The Wand at Dean, who was immediately bound tightly by the ropes that sprang forth, constricting his breathing.

 _Relashio!_

Dean rolled away, gasping for breath.

"And what does it say about you, Lucius? Resorting to petty theft in order obtain a wand!"

 _Impedimenta!_

Lucius was thrown back several feet. "Even with The Wand, you will never be the new Dark Lord! You're a _coward_ , Lucius!"

"I am still your father! How _dare you_ speak to me in such a manner!"

Draco dodged the curse that his father threw at him, and fired back.

"Even without a wand, she is more powerful than you! Do you not wonder how she managed to survive that fall? Don't you know that she is the descendant of the witch who _refused_ The Wand and _still_ held an entire city in thrall! Look around you, Lucius! These people are _devoted_ to her! To the muggles, she is a _god!_ Don't you know that The Dark Lord was always able to see through your lies, and so are we! _Your_ followers bowed to _her!_ See how they run! They know that you are a pathetic and narcissistic pretender to the throne! She is a _Queen!_ "

Lucius' eyes turned to slits in his anger. He hurled a killing curse at his own son, and Draco exploded into dust, leaving his shadow behind and apparating behind his father just in time to see the cruciatus curse hit Épiphanie in the back. She fell to the ground, her patronus dissolving.

"Noo!" Draco screamed, running to her. She convulsed with pain and the dementors swooped in before she could summon her power to resist.

"How powerful is your beloved _Descendant_ now, boy?"

Draco spun around, but the darkness enveloped them and ice coated the cobblestone pavilion. Draco's mind flashed with images of Harry attacking him with the Sectumsempra curse…Dumbledore tumbling from the tower…Voldemort torturing the lifeless-looking body of Harry… Épiphanie falling from the tower…

"So _weak!_ " Lucius laughed.

"Please, Épiphanie come back to me, my love!" The intense cold and despair began to fill Draco, and he saw himself back on the edge of the river…

"Prove yourself worthy, boy! _Save_ her if you can!" Lucius taunted as one of the creatures swooped down, pulling its hood back from its horrid face. She was about to be taken away from him forever. His teeth chattered with the rattling breaths of the creature and he felt limp, begging for death to take him away from this endless pain. Another dementor swooped forth.

"I love you, Ma Zirondelle! I am you! You are me!" As his eyes began to fall shut, he saw the beautiful girl on the bench beside the river…the statuesque dancer in the street…the witch on the train…spiraling through the clouds around each other like phoenixes in heaven…toasting with Harry…The Lady gazing at him as they danced like he was the only man in the world…

Draco's fingers, weakly closed around his wand as the memories stirred in his mind.

"If I die tonight, I shall fall like this! _Expecto Patronum!"_ The silvery light burst forth from his wand and he lifted it, drawing circles in the air. The light grew brighter and the dementors began to retreat. He focused on the images in his mind. Suddenly a tiny dragonfly zoomed forth from the light, its delicate wings vibrating almost invisibly as it darted back and forth, hovering above them.

The dementors drew away in search of another to feed on. Lucius shivered in the immense cold and dark. He drew himself up and looked coldly at the couple on the ground, the beautiful young witch, her long hair spread on the ground and his young doppelganger, bright hair cascading over his shoulders, the dragonfly patronus circling above them. He shook his own mane, pointing his wand.

"A dragonfly?" he scoffed. "Really, boy!" he exclaimed, shaking off the uncontrollable shivering. "Expecto Patronum!" Lucius expected the bright silver light to issue from the wand, but was flabbergasted to see a mass of maggots burst forth and move up his arm. He let out a strangled cry as, crawling in an endless stream from the tip of the wand until his entire body was covered, the millions of tiny larva consumed him, the wand clattering to the ground.

Épiphanie sucked in a gasp and her eyes flew open. A halo of silver floated above her as a menagerie of patronuses moved about the square, but the only image she focused on was the tiny dragonfly that floated just above her head.

"Accio wand," she whispered. Her wand zoomed into her hand and she sat up shakily. "If we fall—"

"We fall together," said Draco, as he pulled her into a kiss.

They heard sirens in the distance growing louder.

"Is that the police?" she asked. They quickly extinguished their patronuses.

"Dammit!" Ignace cursed. "The Aurors will be here next!"

"I have an idea," said Draco, helping Épiphanie to her feet.

Several police cruisers arrived at the gates of Louis Armstrong Park and approached the gathering of people in the center of the pavilion known as Congo Square. All of the members of the group were dressed in white, except one tall gentleman, who appeared to be attired in a tuxedo and top hat. He stood in the center of the crowd with a woman holding a large snake above her head as she danced to the beating of drums being played by other members of the crowd. One officer started forward, but his partner grabbed his arm and warned him to stay back.

"Hey, bro. Don't go ova dere. You gotta respect these folks." All of the officers stood a respectful distance from the group and watched the ritual. "Man, I've heard these things go on for _hours!_ " He watched the statuesque woman dancing with the snake. There was something very familiar about her—that long, curly hair and the cigar in her mouth—but her face was obscured by white paint.

"Boudreaux!" the shift sergeant approached. "What's this?"

"Looks like a ritual sir. I don't know that priestess though."

"Don't she look like dat gal, Glapion? Look at her hair."

"I thought she went away to study or something."

"You into that stuff?"

"Ma Tante Evangeline is a devotee."

"Well, dis don't look like no fayuh works show, like de call said. Leave 'em be. It's almost midnight. Gotta go get ready to shut down Bourbon. C'mon, y'all!" he called out to the other officers."

"Hey does it seem a little darker and colder over here?" one of the officers asked as he climbed into his cruiser.


	33. The Secret of the Caduceus Wand

**_The Secret of the Caduceus Wand_**

The Mystic Krewe of Hallows broke up shortly after the police departed, receiving effusive thanks from the Hogwarts students.

"Thank you for your help," said Harry. "Now that I know you, we'll have to keep in touch."

"Oh, Mais true! Y'all come on back, now!" They shook hands, and Iolanthe gave him a tight hug.

All of the wizards and witches said their farewells and promised to remain in touch.

"That was quick thinking, making it look like a ritual," said Ignace to Draco, shaking his hand. "But, I'm sorry about your father."

"Yes, um—" Draco bit his lip.

Early the next morning, the students gathered in the parlor of La Maison Blanche and gathered around a string of plastic beads that Hermione held up.

"Mes Enfants," The ghostly voodoo queen appeared before them. "You have honored the lwa, Baron Samedi, and the ghosts of the Crescent City. We thank you. Take care of each other."

"Au Revoir, Ma Mère." Épiphanie bowed.

"Au Revoir, Madame!" the group saluted and everyone hooked a finger onto the beads.

Dean was much steadier when the group landed in the room above the Hogshead and climbed into the passage behind the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore to return to the Room of Requirement. They changed into uniforms and headed down to the Great Hall where breakfast was already underway. The group attempted to blend in with the other students coming and going, but The Headmistress stood abruptly as they entered. Her eyes blazing, and lips set in a thin line, she pointed wordlessly to the door as she strode up the center aisle followed by Professors Slughorn and Weasley.

She slapped a newspaper down on the desk in front of her. The headline on the front page of the New York Ghost stood three inches tall: _Patronuses Spotted Above Mardi Gras Celebrations._ Harry's stag patronus dominated the photo, accompanied by Hermione's otter and Ron's terrier. A secondary headline further down the page: _Dark Wizards Rally Dementors to Attack Marie Laveau Ceremony._ Épiphanie groaned, and gripped Draco's hand when Professor McGonagall slammed a copy of The Daily Prophet onto the first paper. _Hogwarts Student Arrested With Dark Wizards Following Failed Attack on Carnival Celebrations in U.S._

Before anyone could speak, the flames in the fireplace flared up, glowing green, and The Minister of Magic stepped out followed by two Aurors.

"Please take Mr. Malfoy into custody," he said.

" _WHAT? NO!_ " Épiphanie shrieked. She jumped in front of Draco. "You _can't!_ " The candles in the room began to flicker.

"Stand aside, Épiphanie." Kingsley's voice was firm. "Mr. Malfoy illegally contributed to the violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. He removed you from the school without permission and transported you across international boundaries. There is also the matter of a grave violation of The Statute of Secrecy."

Draco placed a hand on Épiphanie's shoulder and gave her a light peck on the side of her face. "It's alright, my love," he said softly, stepping in front of her and tossing his hair as he squared his shoulders.

Épiphanie grabbed Draco's hand, tears springing to her eyes. " _NO!_ " Her chest was heaving and her hair began to flutter, charged with magical energy. The chandelier above them began to swing ominously, the flames of the candles around the room flickering more violently. Around the walls, the former headmasters steadied themselves warily as their frames vibrated powerfully. Severus Snape stared down at the girl in shock. Albus Dumbledore smiled with delight as if riding a rollercoaster. The other witches and wizards in the room wore looks of disquiet as the windows rattled and several of the objects in the room began to levitate inches above the surfaces on which they rested.

"Calm down, ma Cherie." Draco turned to her and took her face in his hands. "Look at me. Regardez-moi, Ma Zirondelle." Épiphanie looked into his eyes and her breathing began to calm. "That's good." He kissed her forehead. "Keep looking at me. _It will be okay_. We will get this sorted." He continued to intone softly to her for another minute or two. The portrait frames and other objects stilled and the chandelier's swinging began to slow. Kingsley stared curiously at his daughter.

"Minister, if you take Draco into custody, you'll have to take us all in," said Harry. "It was my idea to track Nott to New Orleans."

"I was the one who created the portkey," said Hermione.

"I reopened the passage to the Hogshead," said Neville.

Kingsley looked at Ron, Ginny and Dean. "And what about you three?"

"Where Harry goes, I go," said Ginny defiantly. Ron nodded.

"Always up for a bit of adventure?" Dean added with a nervous shrug.

"No, it was _my_ idea to go after Nott. It was _my_ wand we were after," said Épiphanie.

"Épiphanie, you have incited an international incident! I have been in communication with the President of MACUSA all night! To have to explain that it was _my own daughter involved!_ "

"What they were planning would have been an international incident of epic proportions!" Épiphanie insisted.

"Épiphanie, I brought you here so that you could learn to properly use your magic and learn the ways of our world, not for you to go gallivanting off chasing dark wizards halfway around the globe and threaten the International Statute of Secrecy. What if something had happened to you? What would your mother have said? How can I protect you, if I can't trust you to follow the rules?"

"Protect me? Like you've protected me for the last _sixteen years_? By disappearing from my life and leaving me to think that I was the only one with powers like this?"

"That's not fair, Épiphanie. You don't understand—"

"But I understand, Minister," Dean suddenly spoke up.

"My dad's great. He cares about me and my family, but he's not a wizard like my real _father_ was. Instead of telling my mother that he was a wizard, he just left us, thinking that he was protecting us; then he went and got himself killed. When I came to Hogwarts, I believed I was muggleborn, which isn't a bad thing, but being on the run at seventeen—fearing for my life, because the one person who had a duty to properly protect me at my birth, wasn't there—I understand why he might have thought he'd made the right choice, but that doesn't answer the questions. It doesn't stop the dreams, or the nightmares. It doesn't erase the hurt. You were an Auror. What if you'd been killed and Épiphanie never knew you? What if Madame Laveau's ghost had never appeared to teach her all the things about herself? She's ridiculously powerful, sir! She created a _fantastic_ dragon patronus _without_ a wand and fended off the dementors alone before Lucius ambushed her!"

"Sir, Harry can't even do that," said Ron.

"We had to fulfill the prophecy!" Épiphanie declared.

Now, all of the portraits were listening in earnest.

"You received a prophecy?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, Hermione was actually the one to receive the prophecy, on the night that Nott stole Draco's wand and used it to win mine." Épiphanie and the others recounted the events of the night on the tower, how they subsequently discovered Lucius' plan with Anatole Blanquette to raise his army of Inferi from the Cities of the Dead as well as their chance meeting with the Potters, who organized the Krewe of Hallows to aid in the battle.

"It was a skirmish compared to the Battle of Hogwarts," said Ron. "But there had to be almost as many dementors. We could feel trace effects of them above the heart of the French Quarter, even though they never managed to get out of the Square."

Kingsley sighed heavily. "You will have to testify at an inquiry of the Wizengamot, and possibly the MACUSA extradition proceedings for Theodore Nott, as well as The International Confederation of Wizards. In the interest of preventing further scandal in the press until such time as these incidents may be fully investigated, Mr. Malfoy will not be taken into custody." He looked at Draco. "However, you will be confined to Hogwarts castle in the interim. That includes a ban on trips to Hogsmeade." He looked at Minerva, who nodded.

Épiphanie let out an audible sigh of relief and squeezed Draco's hand. He only nodded silently.

"Minister," said Severus. "Lucius Malfoy is dead. It would be best that Narcissa is not informed of this development by Ministry officials."

"Very well. We will arrange for you to be escorted to Malfoy Manor as soon as expediently possible."

Minerva McGonagall rested her hands primly on her desk and gazed down at the motley crew sitting before her. A feeling of extreme weariness swept over her, followed by one of pride in that this band of young wizards had once again managed to overcome great obstacles in the protection of the wizarding world and come out largely unscathed.

"Professors Slughorn, Weasley and I shall determine an appropriate punishment for the _gamut_ of school rules that have been violated. Expulsion will _not_ be ruled out." All of the students except Draco wore expressions of utter disbelief at The Headmistress' last statement. "Of course, that shall be a last resort. In the interim, you are _all_ confined to the castle and grounds. All classes and scheduled meals are mandatory, barring a written note from my desk. Both houses will be fined 500 points. Mr. Malfoy, you and Mr. Potter are banned from your upcoming matches against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, respectively."

"I'm _telling_ , Mum," Bill added. Ginny and Ron huffed, giving him malevolent stares.

"You are dismissed," The Headmistress made to stand.

"Just a moment, Minerva," said Dumbledore. Everyone turned their attention to the portrait. "Did you say that Mr. Nott _won_ your wand, Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt?"

"Yes sir. He convinced Pansy Parkinson to distract Draco so that he could steal his wand, then he used polyjuice to disguise himself as Draco and trick me into letting my guard down. I discovered something off about his behavior, but not before he disarmed me."

"Harry." The venerable wizard looked to him and raised an eyebrow. Harry took on a look of realization.

"By Draco's wand being the one to take The Caduceus Wand, _he_ in effect became its master."

"And since young Mr. Nott is still alive, we can assume that he surrendered the wand to Lucius as opposed to being defeated, but that is neither here nor there. However, even if Lucius hadn't been so foolish as to attempt to cast a patronus against the creatures who shared his affinity, the wand would never have yielded fully to his command. Épiphanie, what is your wand core made of?"

"Thestral tail."

The old wizard in the portrait nodded sagely. "As I suspected. Although the wand was created specifically for another witch, it was still a virgin, as she never used it. Therefore it was willing to choose you, whether because you are her descendant, or because it recognized something else in your power. I believe it was the latter. You see, the Caduceus of Hermes conveys the image of communication, wisdom, eloquence, and commerce—an art which requires a certain amount of cunning—not unlike one of the most notable traits of a Slytherin. It also represents power and authority, the very ideas which made it so appealing to Lucius no doubt. Hermes was known to accompany the dead to the underworld and served as messenger of the gods to mortals. He was also a patron of sports and athletics—such as a witch with particular skill handling a quaffle and broom." He winked. "Madame Laveau attended the deaths of many and was known for her skill as a nurse. As you and your ancestor were both sought after for your divination and legilimency aptitude, the wand is typically inclined to choose Épiphanie.

Likewise, and perhaps what is most important to understand, a thestral hair wand cannot be mastered by the simple act of winning it. It will only choose a wizard that is capable of facing death. I have no doubt that you, young lady, are possessed of the power to have thrown off the curse that Lucius used to distract you from your patronus, but something tells me that deep down, you were willing to sacrifice yourself to the dementors to protect those around you. Lucius assumed that The Caduceus Wand was like the Elder Wand and thus would switch allegiance entirely. However, the true strength of this wand lies in the power of the witch to whom it owes its fealty."

All eyes in the room shifted to her then. Épiphanie bit her lip and studied the lamp on Minerva's desk. After a moment, Dumbledore spoke again.

"Kingsley, I recognize the position you are in as Minister. However, in dealing with the personal matter of Mr. Malfoy and the girl, I strongly caution you to listen to your daughter and respect her position. As I have in the past told Mr. Potter, love has an overwhelming effect upon magic. We have observed evidence of that fact in this very room, only moments ago. These young people's patronuses reflect the deepest nature of their feelings for one another. It will not be severed easily." Harry noticed that he glanced at the portrait of Severus Snape as he spoke. "Young lady, you may feel wounded by your parents' decision that your father not be an active part of your childhood, but as I am sure Mr. Thomas and Mr. Longbottom, and particularly Mr. Potter can attest, it may well be fortunate to us all that he wasn't. You are a witch of formidable power, the likes of which Tom Riddle would not have been able to resist."

Draco stood at the gates of Malfoy Manor and stared up at the fine house in the distance. It somehow appeared ominous to him now and he was cowed in its presence. He saw a curtain at the window of the library part, and Épiphanie squeezed his hand. He willed his feet to move and they strode purposefully up the drive, flanked by two Aurors. She waited in the drawing room while Draco went to the library.

Narcissa sat beside the fireplace, staring blankly at the flames. Her face was even more drawn than the last time that he had visited The Manor, upon his return from America. She looked up when he entered.

"Lucius?" She rose slowly to her feet.

"No, Mother." Draco's voice came out hoarse and dry. She ran to him.

"Draco!" She touched his face and gripped his sleeves desperately. "Your father! What has he done? Where is he?"

Draco could not meet her eyes, and turned his face away as he spoke. "I'm sorry, Mother."

Narcissa collapsed in his arms, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. They sank to the floor and Draco held the fragile woman in his arms as she let out a keening wail, tears falling from his face and wetting her hair. He eventually composed himself and took control of the situation, carrying Narcissa to her suite and putting her to bed. He contacted St. Mungo's Hospital and hired a private duty nurse who was immediately dispatched to care for the distraught widow. Draco instructed the house elves to assist the nurse and to come immediately to Hogwarts if there were any problems. He sat down beside Narcissa, who had settled some after receiving a calming draught, and brushed her hair away from her face.

"I can't stay, Mother. Father's actions have left me under censure. I promise I will return just as soon as the proceedings are finished, if I can." He kissed her brow and she accepted the goblet of Dreamless Sleep potion that the nurse offered her as Draco left the room.

He wandered around his father's study, frowning at the artefacts and tomes lining the shelves, and turned to the desk where an assortment of business parchments lay abandoned. He leafed through a few, but noticed the Aurors eyeing him with interest and moved on. Whatever those dealings were, they could wait until after the Wizengamot proceedings were finished.

"The Manor falls to me now," he said, looking out of the window as he spoke.

"Will you move back?" asked Épiphanie. She perched on the edge of one of the chairs facing the desk.

"I don't know. There's a lot of pain and darkness here." He noticed Lucius' walking stick against the fireplace and went to pick it up. He touched the serpent's head at its end and pulled. There was a wand attached. It looked the same as the one that Voldemort had taken from his father before, but he knew that one had been lost. Lucius must have sheathed his replacement wand in the same finish. _Sentimental fool!_ He thought to himself. His chest tightened and he set the walking stick back in its place, but found that he couldn't release his fingers from it. He stood there for a moment that seemed an eternity, fighting back tears. Épiphanie lightly touched his arm and his grip tightened around the cane. He picked it up again and took her by the hand.

"I'm ready to go now."

"Mr. Potter. Is it your testimony that this wand, having previously been stipulated as belonging to one Draco Lucius Malfoy, is the one that attacked Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt?"

"Theodore Nott had previously stolen the wand from Mr. Malfoy earlier that evening."

"Mr. Potter, how can you be sure that Mr. Malfoy did not simply _give_ Mr. Nott the wand?" the chief investigator of the Wizengamot asked.

The participating bodies agreed that proceedings against Draco would be convened concurrently and the chamber was filled to capacity. All of the members of the Wizengamot were present, including the Chief Warlock, the Minister of Magic as well as representatives from MACUSA and the International Confederation of Wizards. Draco stood in the dock looking strained and ashen.

"Because," Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Mr. Malfoy was searching for his wand when we—Hermione Granger, and I—met him, just before realizing that the prophecy referred to Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt. He appeared quite distressed to discover it was missing. It was certainly not on his person when we reached the top of the Astronomy Tower. I am certain that he would have attacked Mr. Nott before we reached the top as I had attempted to do myself."

"Mr. Potter, did there come a time, on or about February 13, 1999, that Mr. Malfoy did provide passage for Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt, by way of unauthorized international portkey, to New Orleans, Louisiana, in the United States of America?"

"No." Harry's voice was firm and he allowed his eyes to roam over the shocked faces of the members as a number of audible gasps could be heard.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter? Mr. Malfoy has already testified that he transported Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt to America. Are you disputing his testimony?"

"I am not. You asked if Mr. Malfoy provided her an unauthorized portkey. He did not. Hermione Granger created and provided the portkey." Another murmur rippled through the chamber.

"Hermione Granger?"

"Yes. Miss Granger created the portkey and Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt was _accompanied_ to the United States by Mr. Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and myself."

"And for what purpose was Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt taken to America?"

Harry rolled his eyes with impatience. "Respectfully, sir, this is becoming tedious. If I may? Members of the Wizengamot and Guest Representatives, Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt was not _taken_ to America. She willingly allowed us to accompany her with the express intent of retrieving her wand after a prophecy was given to Hermione Granger by Professor Sybill Trelawney of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that revealed a Servant of the Dark Lord, better known as Tom Riddle, was orchestrating an attack on the city of New Orleans. We learned that Mr. Nott was the assailant upon Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt after Miss Pansy Parkinson revealed this information to us. Upon further analysis, we discovered that the late Lucius Malfoy, II was The Servant mentioned in the prophecy and engaged defenses to protect the city from dementors who had been contracted to attack the French Quarter where thousands of muggles and wizards were gathered for Carnival celebrations. You will receive the same testimony from Misses Granger and Weasley, as well as Messrs. Weasley, Thomas, and Longbottom. You will further find that the transcript containing the testimony of Mr. Ignace Potter will also support that assertion."

"If you were aware of such a plot, Mr. Potter, why did you not attempt to alert your Ministry Officials or MACUSA?" asked one of the American delegates.

"With all due respect to Minister Shacklebolt, while the Potter name carries more respect in Britain's wizarding society than perhaps it should, it has been my experience that the Ministry is not always willing to act upon the word of wizards under the age of seventeen, such as Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt. As such, we were not sure that the MACUSA would not be of the same opinion or respond in a timely manner. It was our intent to prevent an international incident of massive proportions for both the wizarding and non-magical worlds."

Épiphanie paced her father's office restlessly. Due to the volatile nature of her disposition, Kingsley would not allow her to attend the hearings. Harry and Draco finally convinced her that it was also not safe for her ability to perform wandless magic to become part of the public record, which it most certainly would if she were to testify on Draco's behalf or to become emotional during the proceedings. Mrs. Weasley sat with her, knitting a layette for Fleur and Bill's baby.

"Try to relax, dear. I'm sure that everything will be fine. Harry and the others will do their best to clear Draco."

"I just wish I could be in there! If I know Draco, he'll throw himself on his wand in order to save everyone else! I can feel it!" Épiphanie threw herself into the chair beside Molly. A rosary appeared in her hand, and she fingered it absently as she closed her eyes and concentrated on Draco.

 _Ma furet._

She could tell that he was actively closing his mind, and the effort was causing him distress, so she left it alone and returned to quietly reciting her rosary.

"Goodness, child! You've never been in love before, have you?"

"No, ma'am," Épiphanie replied, sheepishly looking at her hands.

"My darling, girl! It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Love is a natural and very powerful magical force. It can even protect you and the ones about whom you care the most! Can you cast a patronus?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's a dragon," she mumbled. Molly gave her a look of sincere surprise.

"A dragon! Really?"

"Yes ma'am—well, it used to be a cobra, but it seems to have changed. Is that important?"

"Very! If you'll think about it, for a moment, it will come to you!"

Épiphanie nodded and continued to concentrate on her rosary. Her thoughts eventually returned to Draco once more.

 _…It means 'dragonfly'…Draco is the dragon…I love you, Ma Zirondelle...These young people's patronuses reflect the deepest nature of their feelings for one another…you are me and I am you…_

Épiphanie's mouth dropped open. Molly nodded, giving her a knowing smile. The door to the office opened just then and she leapt from her seat as Harry entered, followed by Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Dean, and Neville. Épiphanie looked at them expectantly, a few seconds later Draco entered the room. His face was pinched, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Épiphanie was sure that her heart had stopped as she waited for someone to speak. Finally, Draco looked up at her and opened his arms.

Épiphanie flew into his embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, trembling with relief.

"What did they say?" she demanded.

"The Wizengamot has cleared me of Contributing to the Violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and Unauthorized Transportation of an Underage Witch/Wizard Across international Boundaries. I do believe that decision had more to do with the fact that to convict would necessitate the prosecution of The Chosen One." Draco smiled at Harry. "The ICW has decided to stand by that decision, possibly for the same reasons."

"What about the MACUSA?" she asked. Draco sighed heavily. Épiphanie bit her lip nervously.

"They were reluctant to go along with the decision at first, but Mr. Akingbade reminded the representatives that ruling in defiance of their decisions when the daughter of The Minister of Magic holds dual citizenship with their country, would be taken as an affront to The Ministry. Also, apparently the Potter name carries quite a bit of weight in America as well—something to do with a distant relation who was one of the original twelve American Aurors." Draco looked at Harry with feigned derision. Harry shrugged. "So, I must obtain official permission from MACUSA to visit the country prior to my arrival in the future, and maintain a registered wand. Also, I'm not to travel to the United States by any means other than muggle transport."

"So it's over?" Épiphanie let out a sigh of relief as they nodded.

"We may have to testify at Nott's trial, but yes. For us, it's over."


	34. Facing the Ghosts of the Past

_**Facing the Ghosts of the Past**_

Harry forced himself to suppress a shudder as he followed Draco up the front drive of Malfoy Manor. It was the day of the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match. Neither wizard could stomach the idea of watching the match, knowing that they were suspended. So, they obtained permission from The Headmistress to leave school in order to inquire after Narcissa's welfare and attend to legal matters regarding the will of Lucius Malfoy, II. After a trip to Gringotts, where the transfer of assets was completed, the two apparated to the Wiltshire estate. Harry waited in the library while Draco went up to Narcissa's suite of rooms.

The nurse informed him that his mother was no longer in need of the Dreamless Sleep potion, but still took the Calming Draught at least once a day. She had also begun eating again and was persuaded to get out of bed in anticipation of his visit.

"Mother?" Draco found her sitting beside the window, a shawl draped over her shoulders. There was more color to the face that turned to him when he spoke, but Draco couldn't help but notice the strands of silver that had appeared at her temples.

"Draco, my darling son!" she smiled. He knelt beside her chair and took her hand.

"How are you, mother?" he asked. She turned her face once more to the window and gazed out, seeing nothing.

"I prepared for the coming of this day when yet you were an infant in my arms, Draco. Your father had always been mad for power and influence. I had hoped that the desire would leave him when The Dark Lord was vanquished the first time. We had money, a family, and position in society—peace, freedom. Surely he would have learned the consequences following that terrible time until the final fall of The Dark Lord. I hoped his desires would be quenched in the face of freedom and peace. Last year, I couldn't dream of living to see you achieve your birthright. Now, you are the Lord of the Manor. Will you return?"

"I don't know if I will return, Mother. There is much to consider. However, I have spoken to the goblins at Gringotts. The transfer of assets and property has been completed, and I have naturally made provisions for your welfare. I thought Lucius would have changed the terms of his will when I left home."

"Your father had a great many failings, Draco. His love for you was not one of them." Narcissa turned to him again. "This is your home, son. I have already instructed the house elves to begin packing my belongings."

"The Manor is your home, Mother. I would never ask you to leave."

She patted his face. "I think I should like to travel. I have not been abroad for quite some time. Lucius promised me a voyage around the world when you first left for school. It's high time to make that journey before I am an old dowager." Her smile was genuine and she laid her hand on his. Draco gave her a kiss on the cheek and promised to see her before he left the manor to return to school.

"Draco?" He turned as he reached the door. "You brought the girl with you?"

"Not this time, Mother."

"Son, she doesn't strike me as the type of girl who will allow her heart to be trifled with. Take care to treat her tenderly. If you believe that she is your soul mate, it would serve you well to remember your father's misdeeds in your dealings with her." She turned back to the window and Draco left the room.

"How is she?" Harry asked when Draco entered the library.

"Better than I expected. She says she would like to travel." Draco went to the window and looked out across the lawns. A peacock marched haughtily past the window, its train of covert feathers gliding along behind. Draco sighed.

"You're a man of means, Harry. What will you do? When it's all finished—school?"

"I suppose I'll take Kingsley up on the offer to enter Auror training. I hadn't much thought of anything else."

"Hm." Draco nodded and continued to stare out of the window.

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. I hadn't expected to inherit The Manor so abruptly. Hell, a year ago, I didn't think I would live to even receive my birthright." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "Everything had already been planned for me. I was to finish school, marry some debutante they chose for me—probably Pansy, or one of the Greengrass girls—produce an heir…now, I just—" he shook his head and went to the sideboard where he uncorked a decanter and poured himself two fingers of scotch. He offered the bottle to Harry, who shook his head. Draco shrugged and replaced the stopper. Lifting the glass to his lips, he sipped thoughtfully and returned to the window. "Épiphanie makes me look at the world in a different way. By Merlin, Harry! It's not just that her magical abilities are unmatched, she forces me to hold myself accountable, not only for my actions, but for my feelings. I—I want to be a different wizard. One that people respect, not one they fear."

Harry joined him at the window, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"What I can't understand," Draco continued. "Is why he didn't kill her when he had the chance. He certainly didn't think twice about firing the killing curse at me. Lucius has always been a vicious duelist. He would cast a cruciatus and make you _beg_ for death. Yet, it was like his heart wasn't in it."

"I don't think he ever meant to kill you _or_ her, Draco," said Harry.

"Don't be daft. I just told you that he fired a killing curse at me."

"And you easily avoided it, did you not? He knew you would. It was a distraction. Lucius needed you off your guard and out of the line of fire. He wanted to punish you, not kill you. If he had killed Épiphanie, you would surely have dropped him where he stood before the curse had even fully formed in your conscious mind. Think about it. Without her soul, Épiphanie would have been a lifeless shell. What better way to punish you, than to force you to live a life of guilt tortured by the sight of your beloved unable to hear or see or recognize you, but there in front of you, unable to love you. Dementors force us to relive our absolute worst memories. Do you remember when they boarded the train just before our third year? You mocked me for passing out." Draco's face flushed. Harry smirked. "When the dementor entered the compartment, I had a sudden memory of Riddle murdering my mother. I could hear her screaming my name just before he killed her." Harry let out a sigh. "It's much easier to let go of the dead, Draco. There will be guilt, naturally, but we can hold on to the good memories that we have because there is no living reminder to haunt every waking moment. He banked on you falling apart, not protecting her with a patronus of your own."

Draco was silent as he mulled over what Harry said. He sipped his scotch. After a few moments, Harry spoke again.

"How did you manage it?" he asked.

"What?" Draco turned to him.

"The patronus. You were so sure that you couldn't do it without killing yourself."

"I don't know." Draco stared into his glass. "If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that Épiphanie had a hand in it." He looked at Harry, who said nothing, but waited quietly for him to continue. "We've made love, you know."

"I gathered that."

"Really?"

"Sure—that little performance the two of you put on at Antares Hall."

"Ah, yes." Draco allowed a slight smile of embarrassment. "She's not a mindless shag, Harry. Being with her is…intoxicating and exhilarating. I thought I had hidden my fear from her. I should have known better. I can't close my mind to her when she touches me that way. When I look so deeply into her eyes, she just possesses me and I lose all control. That night…the night before the attack, she came to me and offered herself to me and all I remember was this ecstasy…being with her, looking at her, flying with her…dancing with her, making magic together. She _gave_ me my happiest memories—drew them out and placed them in the fore of my mind…I thought about what you told me about Snape's patronus."

"He loved my mother very much."

"My patronus…it's a dragonfly.

"That's what you call her—Zirondelle—dragonfly?"

"I wouldn't have believed what Dumbledore said about Épiphanie preparing to die for all of us that night…but…there was something that she said to me…" Draco sighed heavily.

"What's that?"

"She asked me if I would remember her." Draco blinked back a tear and drained his glass.

"And what about you, Draco? You were so sure that you would die. Were you ready for it?"

"For the first time in my life, I have felt true love. I knew in that moment, as I thought that I would lose her forever, I was ready. Yes."

Gradually, their talk turned to other things. Draco showed Harry the magnificent grounds of Malfoy Manor, the palatial conservatories where Narcissa had cultivated some of the finest roses and exotic flowers in the region, the stables that housed magnificent horses and a wicked hedge maze with an anti-disapparition jinx that Lucius had placed on it. Remembering his last encounter with a maze, Harry stayed well back. Draco returned to Narcissa once more before they left. He promised to try to visit before she went abroad.

"It still amazes me that we should have become friends, Potter—Harry," said Draco, as they walked together between the tall hedgerows towards the gates of The Manor.

"I think that it amazes the entire world. But I believe in the potential for people to change. That it should take so much trauma in order for that to happen is the sad part." Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"But I _was_ right on that first night of school, you know."

"About what?" Harry stopped walking and looked at him curiously.

"Some wizarding families _are_ better than others." Draco winked. Harry stared at him, bemused. "I just hope the Weasleys invite me to the wedding!"

"Prat!"

"Git! Let's get back to the castle and see what kind of damage Ravenclaw did to Slytherin without their _awesome_ Seeker. Shall we?" Draco threw his arm around Harry's shoulder.

Harry threw his arm over Draco's shoulder, and like old friends they walked through the gate and disapparated.

Épiphanie threw her broom down and snatched off her armor, hurling it into her locker as she entered her training room in a huff. Five hours, and they had only managed to score five goals against Ravenclaw! She forced herself to calm her breathing, lest the wooden pitch burst into flames. In her heart of hearts, she couldn't even blame the loss on her teammates. She certainly wasn't in form herself, what with her mind far away from the game. She'd managed to drop two interceptions right into Ravenclaw's hands. At least Harper was in fine form. By ensuring that Ravenclaw did not score any goals, he more than made up for the rest of the team's abysmal playing. The team's reserve Seeker just simply wasn't up to playing on the same level as Draco, and they were unable to catch the snitch for the win. Draco would be furious when he returned. Fortunately, they still led in the Cup standings. She didn't bother to change before leaving the training rooms, and decided that a walk along the grounds would help to calm her.

Épiphanie didn't pay much attention to where she was going, lost in her own thoughts, until she came upon a clearing in the woods where a small herd of thestrals were gathered. She sat down on a fallen log nearby and watched the quiet, skeletal creatures as they grazed.

"The Forbidden Forest is strictly off limits to Hogwarts students." There came a deep and velvety voice from behind her. Kingsley sat down beside her.

"I guess I just can't seem to stay out of trouble," she replied flatly. "I didn't know that you were coming to the match."

"I wasn't, initially, but the Board of Governors met with Professor McGonagall this morning."

"We didn't get her into trouble, did we?" Épiphanie's voice was anxious.

"No, my child. This was a regularly scheduled conference." He patted her arm. "Can you see them?" he asked.

"Yeah. They're pretty majestic."

"That one," he pointed to the largest of the herd. "That one is called Cimetiere. Hermione and I rode him when we took Harry into hiding before the war."

"Wow. Must be amazing," she murmured with a nod.

"Thestrals can only be seen by those who have witnessed and accepted the truth of death." She recognized his statement for what it was.

"I've seen many devotees to the end of life with Maman. Did you know that even in a coma, a person wishes to communicate with their loved ones? The ones who are prepared to go on generally want the same thing, invariably—to assure their loved ones that they will be okay. They want to be remembered when they're gone; they want La Baron to welcome them at the gates."

"You don't fear it—death?" Kingsley asked.

"Everybody fears death, Papa. Fear and acceptance are different. I found that book, Tales of Beedle the Bard on the shelf in my room and I read the story about the Three Brothers—Harry's ancestors. Ignotus was ready to greet death as an old friend. It didn't say that he didn't _fear_ death, why else would he have asked for a cloak of invisibility?" A foal ventured near them, and she reached out her hand to stroke its leathery face. "I'm sorry, Papa. I've always been impulsive, and I'm not good with rules. It's my fault that Draco and the others went with me to New Orleans. I had to go. What if The Servants had succeeded in their attack? Everything that I had ever known would have been lost. Everything that you all sacrificed for would have been for nothing." She looked into her father's eyes, begging him to understand.

Kingsley's jaw was tight as he listened to his daughter speak, but his gaze softened as he looked into her pleading eyes. He thought of the tender way that Draco had spoken to her in The Headmistress' office, calming her roiling magic.

"You must remember that I am essentially new to fatherhood, Épiphanie. I regret that I wasn't a more active participant in your childhood, especially given how much witness I have had to the lives of your friends, even Draco, although in a much different capacity. Now that you are finally in my life, you're practically a woman, and perhaps a part of me isn't ready to let go after having you for such a short time. You are so amazingly perceptive, and possessed of a power that in some respects is rather frightening. I admit to some prejudice regarding Draco. I know his past better than I know his present. I must admit however, that there is something in him—something that Lucius certainly never exhibited—that tenderness and true devotion in his eyes as he calmed you last week." He sighed heavily. "I will promise to give him a chance, if you answer one question for me—honestly." He gave her a pointed look. Épiphanie responded with a curious shrug.

"Okay?"

"When I met with the President of MACUSA, I enquired as to why you were not recruited for admittance to Ilvermorny. Imagine my surprise to learn that you had been sent more than one letter of admittance."

Épiphanie bit her lip and shrugged sheepishly. "I thought they were a hoax. We were always getting solicitations to 'broaden our magic' from charlatans in the voodoo and mystical community who are out to make money. Kids used to tease me at school and say that if I was so good at reading minds, maybe I should go to a magical school. How was I supposed to know that these schools really existed?"

"So, you forged your mother's handwriting in a letter saying that you would continue to attend public school?"

"Are you angry?" she asked.

"No, my child. I understand. I'm proud to say that my daughter has followed in my footsteps and will be an alumna of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He gave her a wink. "Even if she is a Slytherin." He stood and helped her to her feet. "Since we're out breaking the rules, how about I treat you to dinner in Hogsmeade?"

Draco sat up in bed, panting for breath, the image of Épiphanie's lifeless form imprinted in his mind. It had been more than a week now, and he couldn't shake the nightmares. In his dreams, Lucius had won. Some nights she lost her soul. Some nights she was hit by the killing curse, her empty eyes staring up at Draco as if he'd betrayed her. He clutched his chest now, feeling his heart was about to leap out of it, Lucius' laugh echoing in his ears.

"It's just a dream. It's just a dream." He whispered to himself. Finally, the pounding in his chest began to subside. He opened his bedside drawer and took out a silver flask, pointing his wand to warm it. He opened the top and a silvery vapor wafted out. Draco took a long swallow of the potion before placing it back into the drawer. Within moments, his tension had faded away, and he drifted off to sleep.

Épiphanie stared up at the canopy of her bed. _So we're going off the rails again, Draco?_ She sighed and turned on her side, closing her eyes.

The next morning, Draco slid next to Épiphanie at the breakfast table, and planted a kiss on her neck. She leaned away from him, turning to look into his face. His features were drawn and there were bags under his eyes which boasted pinprick pupils. Pale blond stubble dusted his chin.

"How did you sleep?" she asked, reaching for her coffee.

"Marvelously! Dreamt of my beloved all night!" he smiled and loaded his plate with eggs and sausage.

Épiphanie sipped her coffee thoughtfully.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked.

"You're lying, Draco." She sipped, her gaze on the owls swooping in with the morning post. Hatshepsut landed with several envelopes addressed to her. She flipped through them and tucked them into her satchel without reading them.

"What do you mean, I'm lying?" Draco gave her an offended look.

"Do I have to spell it out to you?" She sipped, not looking at him.

"Trouble in paradise?" Blaise Zabini smirked from across the table. Draco glared at him and Épiphanie tilted her head, narrowing her eyes.

"Do you _really_ want to go there with me right now, Blaise?" she snarled. Blaise quickly took his plate and moved down the table to sit with Graham Montague.

"Apparently, you do have to spell it out to me, since I don't have your _powers_ of perception," Draco turned his attention back to Épiphanie. She set her coffee cup on the saucer with a loud clatter.

"As if it weren't already written on your face, Draco. I know you're not telling me the truth, and I'm not feelin' all that. You're having nightmares. Have done since we got back from New Orleans, and I don't like your method of coping."

"So what? Now you're in my dreams? Do I have _any_ privacy?"

"Of course you do. But hell, you called out my name! If you don't want me in your head, don't invite me!" She stabbed her eggs, impatiently.

"Alright then! I'll be sure to close my mind in the future!" he snapped.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Okay, then!" Épiphanie grabbed her satchel and stormed from The Hall.

Épiphanie was still fuming when she reached the library a few minutes later and dropped into a chair across from Ginny with a huff.

"Is everything okay?" the red haired girl asked.

"Fan- _fucking_ -tastic!" she muttered. Épiphanie closed her eyes and worked to control her breathing. She really didn't want to upset anything in the library, as Madame Pince would likely ban her, and she had noticed the books on the shelves nearest them were vibrating slightly.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, it's—" She sighed. "I probably shouldn't be telling you—but Draco has been having nightmares. They're really awful—related to what happened in New Orleans. I think it's grief he isn't dealing with. I mean, the trauma of seeing what happened to Lucius had to have shaken him. I asked him how he slept, and he lied to me about it. I confronted him, and he went off on me about invading his thoughts!"

"We-ell, he kind of has a point, Épiphanie." Ginny said, reluctantly. "People tend to have trust issues with Legilimens."

"But I couldn't help it, Ginny! I've gotten better about casually looking into people's thoughts. Besides, you can't imagine some of the fucked up shit some the students here do with their unoccupied thoughts!" Épiphanie shuddered. "But Draco and I are connected. He was calling out to me!"

"But maybe you should have told him that, and let him know you were concerned."

"I _did_ tell him that—well, sort of. He snapped at me, and I started tripping." She sighed. "I'm worried about him. You should see him, his hair's all lank. Bags under his eyes, and he didn't even bother to shave! But for real though, it's not that he's having nightmares and lying about it that bugged me." She lowered her voice and leaned in. Ginny did the same. "He's got a stash of Draught of Peace that he's taking to deal with it. I even noticed it in his satchel this morning."

Ginny sat back in her chair, mouth agape.

"He could drink himself into a coma!"

"I know! I don't know if he's brewing it himself or getting it from someone else, but what if he screws it up, or gets a bad batch?"

"Épiphanie, maybe you should tell someone," Ginny suggested.

"But who? If he's buying it, then what can I do? He's of age, and it's not like it's an illegal potion. Besides, I don't know if he's making up the potion himself, which means he might be pilfering from Slughorn. What if McGonagall expels him? He'll be pissed with me, and left to his own devices, he might start doing something worse!" Épiphanie sighed heavily. She opened her bag and took out the herbology essay that she'd come to the library to finish. She struggled to form coherent paragraphs from the notes she had taken as her mind kept wandering back to her dilemma with Draco and how she could intervene to help him save himself.

The following Saturday, Gryffindor faced Hufflepuff and took the lead in the Cup standings, routing the Badgers with a score of 260 to 90, with a second year boy named Christansen coming off the bench in Ginny's Chaser position, and Ginny as reserve Seeker. There were only two games left in the regular season. Slytherin would face Hufflepuff in two weeks' time, and Gryffindor would take on Ravenclaw just before the Easter break. Draco called a team meeting and, as predicted, he freely expressed his disappointment with the team's abysmal performance in his absence.

"Well, whose fault is it that we didn't have our Seeker?" Vaisey groused.

"A win should never be dependent on the Seeker's ability to catch the snitch. Everybody knows that! You saw it in the match against Gryffindor!" he snapped, leaning against the front of the captain's desk.

Épiphanie slouched in her chair near the back of the training room. She was tired and a bit nauseated from the smell of sweat and odorous quidditch boots. Merlin! Didn't these guys know any air freshening spells?

"Everybody has to have their head in the game!" Draco barked.

"Well, maybe we should all drink a little Draught of Peace before the next match," Épiphanie grumbled.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco stood up.

"I _said_ maybe we should all drink a little Draught of Peace before the next match." She got to her feet. "Then we can just sleep through the whole thing. It's only Hufflepuff after all."

"Well, if you're so unconcerned, Shacklebolt, maybe you can sit out the match!"

"Like you?" she challenged.

"Oi!" Harper yelled. "Can you two save your little lovers' spat for another time? If we're going to get ahead of Gryffindor in the standings, we need _all_ of our starters, Draco! If Hufflepuff can beat Ravenclaw, then they can certainly beat us if all we have is a crap team! Why don't _both_ of you get it together?"

Épiphanie knew Harper was right, and she backed down. Besides, she had clearly made her point. She rolled her eyes at Draco and sat back down.

"Fine!" Draco returned his attention to the rest of the team. "I've booked the pitch for this Saturday and Sunday mornings at ten a.m. sharp. Don't be late!"

The meeting broke up and the team left the training rooms for dinner. He grabbed Épiphanie's arm as she headed for the door.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"What you're doing is dangerous, Draco!" She snatched her arm away from him.

"Well, what _you're_ doing is an invasion of privacy!" he snapped.

"I haven't been in your head since you went to clickin' on me in the Great Hall! Don't turn that shit back on me, dammit!" The lanterns in the room flared, and she took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The lights returned to normal as she calmed herself. "Are you mixing it yourself?"

"What are you, my mother?"

"I thought I was your girlfriend." She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. "You know what—just—do what you want, Draco." She left the room.

Draco stared after her for several minutes. What just happened? Did she just break up with him? He ran out of the training rooms, but she was gone. Épiphanie didn't show up for dinner. He sat at the table, until nearly everyone had come and gone.

"Hey, Ginny? What's up with Draco? He's just sitting there. Where's Épiphanie?" asked Harry, noticing the curious way that she watched Draco from across the Great Hall.

"I don't know," she shrugged. Ginny felt torn. She was concerned about what Épiphanie had told her, and she didn't know if she could trust Harry with the information. He had such a need to fix everything for everyone, but she knew that this was something that Draco had to do on his own. Sadly, she didn't think he could. She turned her attention to her boyfriend and distracted him with a change of subject.

Épiphanie wiped the tears from her face as she walked to the dungeons, taking a deep breath and pasting on a calm face before she entered the Slytherin common room. She was almost to the entrance of the girls' dormitories when she heard a voice from the corner.

"So, there _is_ trouble in paradise," said Blaise.

"Unless you want a cute little puppy-dog tail, Zabini, I suggest you step off and leave me alone." She frowned at him.

"Believe it or not, I was being sincere, princess." He gave her a genuine smile. "Want to talk about it?" He gestured to the chair across from him. Épiphanie hesitated for a moment, then dropped into the tufted chair.

"I'm just worried about him, that's all. I don't think he's handling his grief well," she said. She didn't want to betray Draco's trust. At least she didn't give Blaise enough information to embarrass him with.

"Everybody grieves in different ways, you know. Some people don't want to talk about it. Some people won't shut up about it. They're always crying and moaning like Myrtle. Others, well they just don't care one way or the other. For them, death is just another wrinkle in an otherwise ordinary week."

"Sounds kind of callous, don't you think?" Épiphanie winced at his last remark.

"Well, when your mother's husbands have a rather annoying habit of dying before they can barely uncork the champagne on their first anniversary…" he shrugged. She had an image of a very young Blaise standing before a headstone, clutching the hand of a woman in a black veil. Épiphanie's eyes grew wide.

"Your father too?" she asked.

Blaise gave a dismissive wave. "I barely remember him. As for the others, I've learned not to get attached."

"Well, I guess that's one way of coping." She shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

"So, what makes you think that Draco's not coping?" he asked, sitting back and crossing his legs at the knee.

"Oh, I don't know," she lied. "I can tell he's not sleeping well. He doesn't seem to want to talk about it." Well, it wasn't a complete lie.

"Well, you know Draco isn't one to allow others to believe that he is weak." Blaise picked an imaginary piece of lint from his trousers and flicked it away. He leaned forward and surprised Épiphanie by taking her hands. "I wouldn't worry about it. Maybe just give him some space. The two of you _are_ practically joined at the hip. If it helps, I'll talk to him."

"Well," Épiphanie eyed him suspiciously. "Just don't mention that I talked to you. I don't think he'll be too happy to think that I've been telling all his business."

"Mum's the word!" he winked and patted her knee, keeping his hand there just a second longer than she thought he should. Épiphanie took that as her cue to get up.

"Thanks, Blaise. I do feel a bit better." She smiled. He gave her hand a squeeze, and she turned back to her dormitory.

Draco stood just inside the entrance of the common room and stared. Épiphanie was talking to Blaise? He watched as Blaise leaned forward and took her hands. What the hell? Did he just pat her knee? Why hasn't she hexed him into the middle of next week? She left without even looking in his direction. Blaise looked after her with interest and Draco found his voice.

"Zabini!" he growled, crossing the room. "Mind telling me just what you're so fascinated with?"

"I beg your pardon?" Blaise feigned ignorance.

"Something wrong with your eyes, you can't keep them off Épiphanie's arse? What exactly was all that with my girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? Really?" Blaise smirked. "You look tired, Malfoy. Maybe you should get some rest, my friend. I think your eyes are playing tricks on you." He sauntered out of the common room. Draco stared after him, his wand hand trembling. He knew hexing Blaise would solve nothing, except to lose them points and earn him more punishment.

There was technically nothing wrong with Blaise and Épiphanie having a chat. He supposed that they had managed to mend their differences. Why was he so bothered by it, and what did Blaise mean? Was he suggesting that she had confided that their relationship was over? Draco's heart hammered in his chest. What had he done?

Épiphanie wasn't waiting for him the next morning to walk to breakfast together. When he arrived in The Great Hall, he was shocked to discover her sitting at the table engaged in a conversation with Blaise. Draco sat down heavily beside her and began to fill his plate, giving the other Slytherin a spiteful glare. She didn't acknowledge him, taking up her juice.

"Sleep well, Malfoy?" asked Blaise giving him a smirk and a pointed look.

"As a matter of fact, I didn't, _Zabini_. Must have been a _rat_ under my bed." He stabbed his eggs.

"That's too bad. Well, I'm off. I hope that works for you, princess. Let me know." He winked at Épiphanie before leaving the table. She raised her glass in his direction.

"Hope what works out for you?" Draco asked, immediately regretting the edge in his voice.

Épiphanie looked at him tiredly. "We were discussing an alternative theory for an arithmantic equation."

"Oh." Draco began to eat. The food seemed dry and tasteless.

"How _are_ you sleeping?" she asked quietly.

"You don't know?" he mumbled.

"Wow. Fine, just forget I asked." Épiphanie pushed her plate away and poured a cup of coffee.

 _Stupid! Stupid! She's trying to be nice!_

"I'm sorry, Épiphanie. I'm just tired. I didn't mean to be so snappish."

She sipped her coffee, staring across the Great Hall. Neville waved from the Gryffindor table. She lifted her chin at him in response.

"It's whatever, Draco. Maybe I'll just give you some space." Her voice was tight as she spoke, and she avoided looking at him.

 _Why won't you look at me?_

"Épiphanie—"

"I'll see you in class." She gathered her things and left The Hall.

Draco sighed and pushed his food around on his plate for a few minutes, and finally, with no appetite, made his way to class on his own. When he arrived for Defense Against the Dark Arts, he found her sitting beside Neville and the only available seat was with Blaise.

"Figures!" he muttered to himself.

"Will you be joining us today, Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Weasley asked as Draco hesitated near the door.

"Yes, Professor." He moved quickly to his seat. Bill waved his wand, and the door closed.

"Very good. Now then, we are reviewing the Imperius Curse today. As I am sure that most of you are aware, the Imperius is one of the three Unforgivable Curses and allows the caster to control the actions of another. However, it can be defended against. What makes it difficult to defend is the fact that unlike other curses, such as the Cruciatus, the Imperius Curse is not painful. Quite the opposite, those who have fallen victim to the curse feel a sensation of complete calm, without anxiety or any feeling of responsibility."

"Sounds like theta-state," said Épiphanie.

"Would you care to elucidate, Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt?"

"Sir, in theta-state, brain waves are slowed to a frequency of about four to seven cycles per second. It produces a state of very deep relaxation. It's the first stage of the dream state. It's also what happens to the body in a spiritual possession. These cortical theta oscillations can also be observed in quiet wakefulness. Like being in a trance."

"How can you _observe_ these theta-whatsis?" asked Graham Montague.

"With an electroencephalogram. Electrodes placed on the scalp detect the electrical impulses that are emitted from the brain. It's a muggle thing—but now that you bring it up—it's likely why electronics don't work here. Our magical output is very strong and is probably connected to the electrical impulses that we emit. I'm just saying." She shrugged.

"Hmm, very insightful, Miss Shacklebolt. Now, then, an effectively imperiused being will fall under the caster's total control and will be subject to whatever the caster wishes. It is this that makes the curse unforgivable. The victim may be directed to commit crimes, murder or even suicide."

Neville flinched beside Épiphanie, and she glanced at him. In that moment, she had a brief vision of him sitting in this same classroom as a grizzled old man tortured a large spider. She shook off the vision and placed her hand on his, concentrating on the peaceful classroom. After a few seconds, she felt the tension in his muscles relax. He looked at her and smiled. She winked.

"A poorly performed Imperius curse can leave the victim with permanent brain damage, or in the case of my brother, George, irreversible biological damage." The professor pointed to his ear. He paused a moment before continuing. "It _is_ possible to resist the Imperius Curse, but it requires a particularly strong will. It is the only one of the Unforgivables that has a defense."

"We will begin," He waved his wand and several small cages containing rats levitated to their desks. "with our furry friends here."

It came as little surprise that most of the Slytherins were the first to be successful at controlling their rats—most of them having practiced the curse the previous year when Amycus Carrow served as the instructor. Épiphanie watched her rat turn pirouettes with disinterest, barely bothering to lift her wand for the curse. She directed the rat into its cage and sent it to sleep. Her mind drifted to Draco. She knew that he was watching her and she could feel him opening to her. It was tempting to respond, but she thought about what Blaise had said about giving him space. She wanted him to share his feelings on his own. All he wanted from her was attention and she wasn't going to give him that until he was ready to face his problems without the aid of a potion. So lost was she in her thoughts that Épiphanie did not realize that Professor Weasley was speaking to her until Neville gave her a nudge.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"I asked whether you believed that you are capable of fending off the Imperius Curse."

She looked at him and shrugged. "Only one way to find out, I guess."

"Then perhaps you might like to volunteer, seeing as you find this lesson so enthralling." He pointed to her rat.

"She looked sleepy." The class laughed.

"Step up to the front, please." He beckoned. Épiphanie stood and walked to the front of the room. She began to still her mind and focused on the floor.

"I don't like this," whispered Harry to Hermione. "Her magic is too strong."

"You don't think she could hurt Bill, do you?" she asked.

"I hope not."

"Épiphanie, I'm going to cast the Imperius Curse. As I said, it isn't painful. You must attempt to resist my direction. Understand?" Bill asked, raising his wand.

"Uh-huh." She nodded, crossing her arms and facing him.

"Normally, one would cast this spell non-verbally. That is the other quality that makes it unforgivable. The caster is able to act unobtrusively and escape without detection if necessary. I will speak the incantation in order that you may observe when the spell is cast. Are you ready, Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt?"

"Uh-huh," she responded with a bored expression on her face. The professor pointed his wand at her.

"Imperio!"

Épiphanie continued to stand and stare at the professor with indifference.

"Is she under the spell?" someone whispered.

"Maybe she's waiting for him to make her do something."

Draco craned his neck to see from the back of the room. He hoped that the professor would not trigger Épiphanie into a state of rage. She seemed largely unaffected in spite of the intense concentration on Weasley's face. Suddenly, the red haired professor stumbled slightly and lowered his wand. He recovered quickly and gave himself a shake, straightening his robes.

"Amazing! Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt has managed to successfully resist a full-strength Imperius. Well done!" He seemed to be breathless from the effort.

"I'm sorry about that, sir." She smiled.

"Think nothing of it! Shall we go again?" Épiphanie shrugged and turned to face him. The professor squared his shoulders took a deep breath and pointed his wand. "Imperio!"

Épiphanie tilted her head and gave him a peculiar look. Suddenly, she felt the ground shift under her feet.

There was an audible gasp from the room as they watched her collapse. Draco was immediately on his feet and moving to the front of the room, but Harry grabbed his arm before he could reach her.

"Don't! Bill is extremely skilled in this area. If you break his concentration, she could be hurt!"

"Épiphanie, please stand up." Several seconds passed before she complied.

"She's fighting it," Ron whispered.

"Why don't you sing us a song?" Professor Weasley suggested.

" _My child is not a puppet. Why must you play with her in such a way?"_ Épiphanie appeared to be looking at the professor, but her eyes were vacant. Her voice came out in a sibilant whisper.

"Bloody Hell!" Seamus Finnegan exclaimed. "Is she speaking parseltongue?" Several students in the front row leapt back from their seats. Professor Weasley stared at her in astonishment.

"What's going on? What did you do to her?" Draco demanded.

Harry wiped his hands over his face. "Shit!"

"Finite!" Bill lowered his wand, and Épiphanie swayed, but she did not seem to return to herself. Harry rushed to Épiphanie and grabbed her by the shoulders.

" _Épiphanie? Are you there?"_ He asked.

" _She is not. Who are you?"_

 _"_ _I'm Harry Potter, sir. Épiphanie is my friend."_

 _"_ _How do you speak the language of the old ancestors?"_ she hissed.

" _I inherited it through a curse."_

" _Why did the man-wolf call me forth?"_ she hissed.

" _He didn't. This is our class. His attempt was only to create an altered state of consciousness for her to resist. Please, sir, is she okay?_ "

" _She is perfectly fine. However, this disturbance is most unacceptable!_ "

" _I understand sir, but we are young and inexperienced in the ways of your religion. Our professor did not know that casting the curse would call upon her connection to the spirit world._ "

" _I have only sent to rest. Her mind is troubled at the moment. I shall return her to you, but you must promise no further intrusions._ "

" _Yes, sir. Thank you._ " Harry held his breath and waited. He could feel the tension in the room as every student was struck with fascination and fear of the conversation that they could see and hear, but not understand. The seconds ticked by, and suddenly Épiphanie went slack in his arms. He struggled to keep her from falling to the floor.

" _Épiphanie! Merlin, please wake up!_ " he begged. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and startled, she gripped his arms painfully as she regained her footing.

" _What the hell? Why are you talking to me in parseltongue, Harry?"_ She looked around the room, wildly. Her eyes landed on Draco, who looked as if he was about to faint. "Wait—what? Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph! No! No!" She covered her face with her hands.

Professor Weasley placed a chair beneath her and dismissed the class. Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione and Ginny remained.

"Why in the hell would you command her to speak in parseltongue!" Draco raged.

"I'll thank you to change your tone, Draco!" the professor snapped. "I did not command Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt to speak in parseltongue. I don't have that power, and I had no idea that she had the ability!"

"Will someone please explain what's going on? I thought we were resisting the Imperius Curse!" Épiphanie looked around. The cascade of thoughts closing in around her was making her head hurt. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Bill cast the curse and you looked to be fighting it when you passed out. He ordered you to stand up and asked you to sing a song, but then you began to speak in parseltongue," Hermione explained.

"I what?! No! No, no, no!" Épiphanie placed her hands on her forehead. "What did I say?" she asked.

"It's like you were someone else," said Harry. "He asked Bill why you were being treated like a puppet to be played with."

"He? Wait—Papa Damballah? Seriously? You called him forth?" her eyes were wide.

"Apparently so. Do you have any idea how this might have happened?" asked the professor. "I've never seen such a thing before."

"Well, I was trying to still my mind, like I do before a reading, because I was afraid that if you were successful in imperiusing me that I might hurt someone. When I threw off the curse the first time, I saw that it might have rebounded on you. I was thinking of a dance at the time. You started to take the first two steps." She smiled sheepishly. His ears reddened.

"Is that why you apologized to him?" asked Ginny.

"Yeah. So I decided to try to relax a little and find my place of peace. That's the last thing I remember. I guess Papa Damballah was waiting nearby. You talked to him, Harry?"

"I asked him to let you come back. He seemed keen to protect you."

"And now the whole class knows I can speak parseltongue!" she groaned.

"Well, not exactly—okay, they probably do. But maybe they'll think that it was the curse," Harry tried to reassure her.

"Beautiful! Just beautiful!" she exclaimed with a huff. Épiphanie got to her feet and grabbed her things.

"Épiphanie, wait!" Draco grabbed her by the arm as she stepped into the hall.

"Not now, Draco, okay?" she pulled away from him and hurried down the corridor. He started after her, but Ginny took his hand.

"Give her some time to calm down, Draco. She's embarrassed."

"I just—" He faltered. He didn't know what to say. He looked down the corridor, but she had disappeared.

Épiphanie sat down beside the fountain in the center of the Clock Tower Courtyard and swiped a hand over her face. She hugged herself and closed her eyes.

"Well, that was quite a performance." Blaise clapped slowly.

Épiphanie looked up as Blaise sat down beside her. She shrugged.

"I guess." She mumbled.

"No need to be embarrassed. The imperius curse is designed to take away your personal control."

"Yeah, I don't think it was supposed to work quite like it did, though." She hugged herself closer.

"So, did your knight in shining armor hex Der Professor?" he asked.

"Heh. No." she chuckled with a grimace.

"Pity." He smiled.

"Hey! I like Professor Weasley." She nudged his shoulder with her own.

"Figures."

"What's with you, Blaise? Why are you such a snob?" she asked.

"I simply appreciate a higher standard," he replied.

"Of what? Standards are subjective—outside of math and science—and even in science, there is a certain level of fluidity to certain concepts. You should change your opinion of people sometimes. You might be surprised what you find."

"Why would I ever want to do that?" he scoffed.

"Because real friends are hard to come by," she said. "And you never know when you might wind up needing the person that you stepped on. We have a saying in America—'no sense burning your bridges unless you have a boat.'"

"Well, I happen to have three."

Épiphanie rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless." She placed her hand up in his face.

Blaise grabbed it and kissed her fingertips. He gave her a licentious wink.

"Hold up, hold up! Just because I've given you the time of day without hexing the shit out of you, does not mean I'm down for whatever." She got to her feet and grabbed her bag. Blaise grabbed her hand.

"Wait, Épiphanie! I'm sorry." He stood up. "I was only trying to make you smile. You seemed so glum last night, now this little embarrassing episode in class. Honestly, I swear by Merlin's underpants, I meant no harm." Blaise took her other hand and swung them back and forth, giving her a warm smile this time. He raised a brow. Finally she relented.

"Fine. I forgive you. You're still a scrub though," she smiled.

The bell chimed overhead, and Blaise picked up her satchel, handing it to her.

Draco scowled, watching Blaise place his hand at the small of Épiphanie's back as they entered the castle and headed down the corridor. She didn't even notice him standing there. Why was Épiphanie suddenly so friendly with him? What was Blaise playing at?

"Alright, Malfoy?" asked Neville.

"No."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"You wouldn't have any of that top-notch hash you talked about, would you?"

Neville smiled. "Follow me."

Épiphanie found her seat in the divination classroom, grateful for the small size of the N.E.W.T. class. Most of her classmates generally waited until the last possible minute to enter the heavily perfumed classroom. For some reason, she couldn't seem to close herself off from the thoughts of those around her. She wondered if it had anything to do with falling under the Imperious Curse.

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and focus her mind, pouring a cup of tea and letting it steep, as she continued to breathe deeply and slowly. Professor Trelawney stumbled into the room, knocking into the nearest table. Épiphanie shook her head. The witch really needed some new glasses.

"Hello, my dear. I see you've poured some tea. Are you in search of answers?" she perched on a pouf beside the table. Épiphanie wondered how she could _see_ anything at all with those coke bottle glasses she wore.

"I'm not sure, Professor. I thought it might be worth a look."

"Well, drink up! Drink up! Let us call upon our inner eye!" the woman instructed. Épiphanie drank most of the tea, leaving just enough to swirl the leaves at the bottom. She rotated the cup and inverted it onto the saucer. Once all of the liquid was drained away, she passed the cup to the professor.

"What do you think, Professor?" she asked, doubtful that the woman would even be able to discern the shapes.

Professor Trelawney held the cup and examined it closely.

"Oh, my _dear!_ There is much anxiety about! You are worried, perhaps? No—the anxiety is not yours, but belonging to another—a suitor perhaps? Yes? The broken circle…there is sleep…" she inhaled sharply. "The cross warns of changes…challenges ahead. I see a voyage in the future. One that will bring about change and new beginnings." She smiled wistfully. "A celebration will ultimately bring a union!" She patted Épiphanie's hand.

Épiphanie looked at her skeptically, and took the cup. When she peered in, there were in fact, all the hallmarks that the professor mentioned.

"Professor, this sleep…" she began.

"The answer lies within the dreams, my child." She smiled distractedly. The other students had begun to enter through the trapdoor and the professor turned her attention to preparing for the lesson. Épiphanie sighed and noted the findings from the cup before settling in for class.

Draco handed Neville two galleons and took the small parcel from him, placing it carefully in the bottom of his satchel.

"Listen, it's important that you don't combine this with any type of calming potions. Unless, of course, you're into horrific hallucinations that make you want to throw yourself from the clock tower." Neville warned.

"It's _really_ that potent?" Draco gave him a cynical look.

"Sixth year, Seamus had to be talked down from one of the quidditch towers. He thought he was being chased by a two-headed hippogriff. Don't tell him I told you about that."

"Not a word. Listen, don't tell Épiphanie about this. She's a little pissed with me right now."

"She won't hear it from me. I shouldn't like to be on the receiving end of her ire!" Neville chuckled.


	35. In Dreams…

_**In Dreams…**_

Draco pushed the Slytherin team to their limits in the weekend prior to the Hufflepuff match. They began immediately after breakfast and drilled through the lunch hour, finally ending with a scrimmage match and strategy session before dinner. By Sunday evening, all of the players were tired, sore and grouchy as they trudged out of the training rooms up to the castle. Épiphanie lingered in the shower, letting the warm water ease her sore muscles. When she stepped out, Draco was sitting in her chair waiting.

"You're buggin'! What are you doing in here?" she demanded, clutching the towel around herself.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"So, you couldn't meet me at dinner?" she asked.

"Seeing as how _Blaise_ seems to be occupying all of your free time, lately, I thought it better to talk in private." He slicked his damp hair away from his face and stood unsteadily. Épiphanie backed away as he approached.

"Draco, don't." She pushed his hands away when he tugged at her towel.

"I missed you, my love. Please don't shut me out." He trapped her against the wall and leaned in to kiss her, she turned her head. "What's all this?"

"How about you tell me what's all _this_?" she said, withdrawing the silver flask from the pocket of his robes. She looked into his heavy-lidded eyes. "Are you high?"

"What? I'm on the ground, but I'd like to fly with you right now," he drawled.

"Draco Malfoy! How much of this have you drunk?"

"L'il nip. It just helps me steady my nerves and get a little sleep." He tugged at her towel again.

"Stop it!" Épiphanie snarled. She pushed him away, turning towards the shower, and began unscrewing the lid to pour the potion down the drain.

"Oi! What are you doing?" Draco tried to snatch the flask from her hands. They struggled and her towel fell to the floor. Épiphanie elbowed Draco in the chest and he grabbed her arm, spinning her around and slapping her across the face as he snatched the flask from her hand.

She let out a startled gasp, her hand flying to her stinging cheek. Draco dropped the flask, spilling the contents.

"Épiphanie, Merlin! I'm sorry! I'm—" he took a step toward her, and was suddenly hurled backwards by the force of her knockback jinx, toppling over the chair. "Dragonfly—" he stopped when he saw the malevolent glare on her face.

"Get out, before I do something I'll regret!" she hissed.

"Épiphanie—" he began again, but there was a rumbling as the entire structure vibrated around them. Draco backed out of the room, stumbling as he went.

Épiphanie took several deep breaths to calm herself and reign in her magic. She summoned her clothes and dressed quickly. When she reached The Great Hall, she faltered and turned to leave, walking right into a firm pair of arms.

"Whoa!"

"Sorry, I—" She looked up into the slanting eyes of Blaise Zabini. "I gotta go." She ducked her head and started away.

"Hey, hold on." Blaise grabbed her wrist. "What's the matter? Ah, looks like the princess found the chink in her knight's armor. Am I right?"

"Look, I _don't_ want to talk about it, okay? May I have my hand back, or do I have to hex you?"

"Just a moment," he said. "What happened to your face?"

"Got winged by a bludger." She turned away again.

"That's interesting, because I don't remember any bludgers in your vicinity all day," he replied, still holding her hand.

"What do you care?" She snatched her arm away and started away again.

Blaise caught up to her in a few strides. "Actually, I do care—about the cup. If your head isn't in the game next weekend, and we lose, I will _not_ be happy. Vaisey wasn't the only one who didn't think a witch had any place on the Slytherin team, you know. So, consider it simply me protecting my own interests. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. We'll just walk." He fell into step with her.

"I'm not getting rid of you, am I?" He shook his head with a smirk. She let out an exasperated sigh. " _Fine._ " They walked in silence until they found themselves in the boathouse. They sat atop upturned boat. The lake water gently lapped against the walls and launch ramps.

"What was it you said about burning your bridges?" he said.

"Yeah, not exactly what I meant."

"A boat's a boat," he shrugged.

"So your _three_ boats look like these?" she knocked on the boat they were perched upon.

"Hardly." He slid his hand closer to hers.

"I'm not stupid, Blaise. I know what you're up to." She moved her hand.

"Then why are you here with me, princess?" he asked.

"Because you wouldn't leave me alone, _duh!_ And stop calling me 'princess'!" she rolled her eyes. Blaise hopped down from his perch and turned to face her. He placed his hands against the boat on either side of her, leaning close. "See, you're finna mess around and find yourself down in that lake getting to know the merpeople."

"And yet, she _still_ hasn't hexed me," he whispered, chancing to brush his lips against hers.

"I gotta go." Épiphanie's voice was hoarse when she spoke. She slid off the boat, only to find herself pressed between Blaise and the hull. She slipped under his arm and started for the stairs. He grabbed her hand, but dropped it with a yelp and grabbed his rapidly swelling hand where her stinging jinx landed.

"Miss Shacklebolt, it's after hours!" Minerva declared when Épiphanie ran into the castle from the courtyard, skidding to a stop just before she ran over The Headmistress. The professor gave the young witch a stern look.

"I-I'm sorry, Headmistress!" Épiphanie exclaimed and burst into tears.

The Headmistress let out a sigh borne of years supervising hormonal teenagers. She pursed her lips and conjured a handkerchief, offering it to the sobbing girl.

"There, there, child! This too shall pass. Should I dispatch someone to collect Mr. Malfoy and take him to the hospital wing?"

"N-no, ma'am." She hiccupped. Épiphanie missed the expression of mild surprise and relief flicker across The Headmistress' face.

"Very well, off to your house then."

Épiphanie ran off, leaving The Headmistress shaking her head as she watched her go. She sighed, lost in thoughts of her own departed loves. Minerva didn't notice the disillusioned Blaise Zabini creeping past her.

Draco, sat huddled in a corner of the empty damp dungeon hall beating the back of his head against the stone wall. The large room had a decidedly rank odor to it that turned Draco's already nervous stomach. Why did she have to pour out his potion? No—he couldn't blame her—it was his own fault. He heard footsteps. Is someone there? No, no one ever comes in here except the ghosts. He needed to calm down. Dammit, he needed some more Draught of Peace! She poured out the last of it, and he was out of ingredients now! Their Mardi Gras adventure had cost him the last Hogsmeade trip, so obtaining more from the apothecary was out of the question.

Draco summoned his hookah and fished in his satchel for the hashish Neville had given him. He inhaled a series of short sharp puffs to light the hash then took a long pull on the mouthpiece, holding the vapor before exhaling an endless stream. Draco blinked several times as he felt an immediate floating sensation. Merlin's beard! Neville wasn't kidding about its potency. Were the walls moving? Draco curled into a ball and puffed on the hookah again.

 _Please forgive me, my love! I never meant to hurt you!_

He opened himself in the hopes that she would be nearby watching over him and respond.

 _I need you! I can't breathe without you._

Épiphanie pulled the curtains around her bed, using the bed linens to wipe away her tears. She felt Draco calling out to her. He was slipping away, and she wanted to help him, but her hurt and anger made her resist. She watched him in the dark room, smoking himself into a stupor and began to sob.

Draco tossed and turned, thrashing about on the stone floor. Where was he? Was this real or a vision? He tried to lift his hand to his aching head, but found he couldn't. Lucius stood over him, grinning wickedly as he pointed his wand. Draco saw Épiphanie turn as the yellowish green light hit her. She struggled to fight the Imperius curse, but it was no avail. Her expression went blank.

"No! Épiphanie, fight it! Fight it!" he screamed, struggling against his bonds.

Épiphanie turned and opened her arms. Draco felt a surge of hope, until he realized that it wasn't to him that she was opening her arms.

"What the hell? Dean?" Draco blinked in confusion as the tall, tuxedo-clad figure with the white face stepped past him and embraced her.

"You're such a fool, Malfoy! What would she ever want with a silly Gryffindor?" The lwa's voice was eerily familiar. "She's a Slytherin through and through." He laughed cruelly and Lucius joined him.

Draco wriggled mightily against his bonds.

"Épiphanie! No! This isn't you, my love!" he screamed until his voice was hoarse. "Lucius! Stop this! Why?" he demanded.

"You betrayed me! Your own father! You and that meddling Potter destroyed our final chance at _greatness!_ If you wanted the girl so badly, you should have brought her to The Servants! She could have been one of us! Instead, you watched me be destroyed! Now your mother grieves!"

"I betrayed no one, Lucius! You destroyed yourself! Stop this! I love her!"

"Silencio!" Lucius pointed his wand. Draco opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he watched helplessly as the girl took the deathly figure into her arms. He pulled her into a deep kiss.

"Come children. Let us leave this selfish, pathetic excuse for a Slytherin to his own end," said Lucius.

The couple turned, hand-in-hand, and Draco saw not the face of Dean, or of Baron Samedi, but the dark face of Blaise Zabini wearing a malevolent grin. The trio disappeared and Draco's bonds were suddenly released. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the door, only to find that it had been walled up. There was no exit.

"Épiphanie! Please, Ma Zirondelle! Come back!" he screamed, beating his fists against the stone until they were raw and bloody.

"Draco." He spun around at the soft voice. Narcissa stood in the center of the room. "I warned you, my son. Take care to treat her tenderly. If you believe that she is the one who was meant for you, then you must prove to her that your heart is true. Show her the man that she sees in you."

"Merlin's left eye!" Ron exclaimed as he gazed across the Great Hall at the Slytherin table.

"What?" Ginny looked in the direction of his gaze. Hermione and Harry looked over their shoulders.

"Oh, my word!" Hermione exclaimed.

Épiphanie rested her chin on her hand as she tiredly poured coffee into her cup. Large dark glasses obscured most of her face. Her long curls appeared frizzy and wild, and resembled Hermione's bushy tresses. Draco looked as if he had wrestled a troll. His usually angelic locks were dull and haphazardly pulled into a ponytail, with several strands hanging free about his face. His eyes appeared bloodshot and pale stubble shadowed his face. His knuckles were raw and red, and he flexed his fingers as if trying to exorcise the pain in them. Just down from Draco, Blaise Zabini clumsily handled his fork, his swollen hand wrapped in a bandage. He glanced down the table at the other two every so often.

"Maybe I should put some money on the match this weekend. What does the rest of the team look like?" Ron quipped. Hermione kicked him under the table. "Ow! It was just a joke, 'Mione!"

"Alright, Épiphanie?" Neville smiled as they reached the Potions classroom. She gave him a look, then stepped close and whispered in his ear.

"If you sell him any more hash, I'll feed you to the giant squid!" she hissed. She left him looking dumbfounded and found her seat, pointedly ignoring the haggard-looking blond sitting to her right.

"Well, now! Let us review. We have an exceptional brew this morning. It is considered to be a tremendously potent and highly dangerous potion. You will list its ingredients and explain the brewing process and effects." Professor Slughorn turned and lifted the lid from the large cauldron on the front table. Steam spiraled into the air from the pearlescent liquid and floated around the room.

"Now then, let's see, ah yes! Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt. Can you identify this potion?"

"It's Amortentia, sir." Her voice was flat as she responded. Épiphanie inhaled deeply, despite attempting to hold her breath.

"Very good! Five points to Slytherin. Now then, the aroma is specific to the individual who experiences it. Would you care to identify the aromas that you happen to sense?" He smiled genially at her.

"I—um." She hesitated. "Fine leather, single malt scotch…clouds." Épiphanie sniffed., swiping at a tear that rolled down her cheek. "Excuse me—I" She grabbed her belongings and ran from the room. Hermione and Ginny ran after her.

"Épiphanie! What's going on?" Ginny asked when they caught up to her outside the Entrance Hall.

"He _what_?" Hermione exclaimed when Épiphanie finished recounting the details of what had transpired between her and Draco. They were sitting in Épiphanie's training room at the Quidditch pitch. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I didn't want him to be expelled! I thought that would just make things worse with no one to hold him accountable and unlimited access to the apothecary." Épiphanie picked at a loose thread on her robes.

"That's still no excuse for what he did, Épiphanie." Hermione said, gently.

"He didn't mean it. I know he didn't."

"But, Épiphanie—" Hermione began.

"I know what you're going to say, Hermione, but you forget that I have insight into these things. He didn't mean it. I _know_ he didn't." She tapped her forehead. "Besides, he knows I'd kill him if there were ever to be a next time. _He wouldn't be my first_ ," she murmured, her eyes dark, and her friends both inhaled sharply, but did not press the issue.

"I thought at first that maybe he got into a fight with Zabini. The way he kept watching the two of you at breakfast, and both of them with injured hands." said Ginny.

At the mention of Blaise's name, Épiphanie began crying anew. She went on to disclose what took place between her and the other Slytherin at the boathouse after her fight with Draco.

"I was so stupid! I knew what he was up to all along. I totally played myself! He just wanted to get under Draco's skin and hopefully try to score a notch in his belt in the process."

"You should have thrown him into the river!" Ginny exclaimed.

Harry and Ron cornered Draco after class and demanded to know what was going on.

"Nothing. We're just going through a rough patch." Draco leaned against the cool wall for support. He felt as if he was going to be sick and only wanted to go to bed. The heavy scent of the Amortentia that had pervaded the classroom for the entire period did nothing to help his attempts to straighten out his muddled thinking. He was sure that his essay would make no sense to the professor. The smell of vanilla and cocoa mingled with fine tobacco filled his brain, even now.

"What did you do, Draco?" Ron demanded.

"Sod off, Weasley!" Draco slurred. He attempted to push past the two Gryffindors, but his footing was unsteady and Ron caught him, pushing him hard against the wall, his wand at the Slytherin's throat.

"Right now, I'm certain that Épiphanie is spilling her guts to the girls. Three pissed off witches with a particular skill for hexes are _not_ how I want the rest of my day to go!"

"Ron!" Harry placed a hand on his friend's wand hand. "Look, Draco. You don't look well, and Épiphanie seems to be heartbroken. Whatever is going on, if she matters to you in the way you spoke of her at The Manor, you need to fix it."

"I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if Hermione takes this out on me—so help you!" Ron pointed a finger in Draco's face. "Git!" They left him and Draco turned to stagger towards the Slytherin dungeon once again when he was grabbed by Neville.

"Oh, no you don't! I _told_ you not to smoke it with any calming potions!"

"I—but it was just a little—" Draco heaved and lost the contents of his stomach. Neville leapt back just in time to avoid getting slimed. Draco wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.

"Merlin's saggy underpants! Let's go!" Neville grabbed Draco by the collar and dragged him up the stairs.

Draco stumbled along with Neville until they reached the seventh floor corridor. After three passes in front of the dancing trolls, Neville shoved him roughly into the room of requirement.

"Expelliarmus!" Neville caught Draco's wand.

"Oi! What are you playing at?" Draco demanded.

"You won't need it." Neville shoved Draco's wand into his robes and relieved the Slytherin of his satchel, casting a cleaning charm on it to remove the remnants of his sickness from it.

Draco's eyes fluttered closed, and he swayed, barely bothering to stay awake as Neville dragged him across the room. He wished he could just lie down somewhere—anywhere away from all these angry Gryffindors. Suddenly, he was enveloped by a frigid sensation, clawing his way from underwater. He inhaled sharply as he broke the surface of the ice bath and attempted to climb out of the large tub.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Neville growled. Draco's legs were unceremoniously locked together and the Gryffindor shoved him down into the icy water once more. "Look at that! Getting tortured by you and your lot those years ago, turned out to be useful after all!"

"Oh! FUCK! What the hell, Longbottom!" Draco spluttered as he came up again, shivering from the cold. He wiped his face and thrashed about unable to free himself from the leg-locker curse.

Neville grabbed his collar and pulled him up until their faces were inches apart. He placed the tip of his wand under Draco's chin.

"Now, you listen to me, Malfoy! I am _not_ going into the lake because you were too stupid to be responsible! Épiphanie is my friend, and because of you, she's lost respect for me!" Neville released him from the curse and threw a large towel and robe at him. "Get dressed!"

A fireplace appeared along with a couple of chairs. Neville went to sit in one and Draco scrambled out of the frigid tub of water and dried himself, wrapping up in the warm dressing gown. He shuffled over to the empty chair, pushing it as close to the fire as possible and sank into it. Neville glowered at him.

"You're a right arsehole, do you know that, Malfoy? You get off on bullying others, and talking shit, but when it gets hot, you run!"

"Wait a minute—" Who was this person? It couldn't be the same clumsy, forgetful Longbottom who fell from his broom first year.

Neville raised his wand, and Draco backed down. This definitely wasn't the same Neville of their childhood. This was the Neville Longbottom who stood up to The Dark Lord and slayed Nagini with the Sword of Gryffindor. Draco stared at him in awe.

"Honestly, I was stunned to discover that you managed to drive off the dementors after Lucius waylaid Épiphanie. You stood up to your own father. I never would have guessed it. So, how come you can't overcome your demons? You're not worthy of her."

"I can't live without her, Longbottom! Épiphanie is my beginning and my end!" Draco exclaimed.

"Really?" Neville stared at him in disbelief. "Because if Hannah loved me even an ounce as much as she loves you, I would _never_ break her heart like you've broken Épiphanie's. But of course, you Slytherins always think of yourselves first—I still can't understand why the Sorting Hat placed her there." Neville leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His voice was much calmer when he spoke again. "I believe you sincerely want to change, Draco. You're not the Malfoy I used to know, and I feel somewhat responsible for this situation you're in, so I'm going to help you— _only_ if you're willing to do the work. You're going to sober up and you're not leaving this room until you do!"

All of the team's worry about whether Hufflepuff would be able to pull off another upset against their embattled team was for naught. The Slytherin chasers were in fine form, scoring one hundred points to the Badgers' six goals before Draco captured the snitch to end the game after only two hours of play. Slytherin was now in the lead for The Cup with 480 points. Gryffindor fell to second place with 430 points. The team celebrated with their house mates in the Slytherin common room with bottles of contraband butterbeer and raucous chants slurring the Gryffindor name and its team members. Draco sat quietly in a corner rubbing his temples and wishing he had a firewhiskey instead of butterbeer to drink. He figured he would stay for another five minutes before he could escape without looking rude, when he noticed Épiphanie edging her way to the exit. She looked over her shoulder before she exited. Draco's eyes scanned the room and noticed Blaise watching her leave. Just as he made to stand, Draco flicked his wand and Blaise fell to the floor. Draco chuckled as he crossed to the entrance.

"Really, Zabini! It's only butterbeer. One would think you'd be able to handle yourself!" he sneered, stepping into the corridor.

Draco jogged to catch up with Épiphanie as she headed up the stairs.

"Épiphanie, wait!" he grabbed her hand as she reached the second floor. She stopped and looked at him, but said nothing. "I—" he was suddenly at a loss for words. "Um, impressive flying today. Well done."

"Thanks. You did well too. Glad you got your act together in time for the match." She started down the corridor.

"Épiphanie—" he grabbed her hand again.

"What is it, Draco?" her voice held a note of impatience.

"Can we talk, please?" He couldn't believe that he was begging. She looked at him for a moment and nodded.

They made their way to the seventh floor corridor across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls. The room looked very much like the parlor at La Maison Blanche, except with the addition of a warm fireplace flickering before the comfortable sofa. Épiphanie gave Draco a curious look. He only smiled and pulled her over to the sofa. She curled into one end and gave him a guarded look.

"What do want to talk about?" she asked. Her voice was soft and a bit tired sounding.

"I miss you, Épiphanie. Why are you avoiding me?" he asked, his voice on the verge of whinging.

She shrugged. "I don't know. You pushed me away, Draco, and curled up inside a bottle of potion. What happened to our connection? You call out to me, and when I come to you about the things I see troubling you, you're all buggin'!"

"What bugs? I—"

"No, buggin'—it's a muggle—never mind." Épiphanie sighed heavily.

"Don't you love me anymore, Épiphanie?" Draco was definitely whinging now. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What was this witch doing to him?

"Of course I love you, Draco! That's why this hurts so much—watching you drown your sorrows like you tried to do the first time we met! You are _not_ alone any more, you have friends! Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, even Dean and Neville—you have _me!_ Don't I matter to you?" Draco sprang to his feet and rushed her, pulling her to him and crushing his lips against hers. She struggled against him, but he held her tightly, hungrily, pouring his love into her.

"I'm sorry, Ma Zirondelle! I'm sorry! I need you! He won't let me go!" he whispered urgently, his hands gripping her arms painfully. "Please forgive me!"

"Draco! Let go of me!" she pushed him off. "Stop it! Look at me! _Get your shit together!_ Something's bothering you, then talk to somebody about it! Quit self-medicating and confront your problems! Man up! Prove to yourself that it's worth it. Stop showing up to breakfast every morning _rolling face!_ " Épiphanie lowered her voice and took Draco's hands. "I love you, Draco, but I can't watch you fall apart. I won't. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for being. Don't you think that I feel your pain? Reading you, being in your head is not like watching television!" Draco looked down, studying their hands. Épiphanie stepped closer to him, brushing his hair away from his face. She pressed her forehead to his.

"Remember last summer in New Orleans?" she asked. He smiled and waved his wand. His portable stereo levitated from his bag. Another wave of his wand, and the room filled with the gentle sounds of a love song.

He wrapped his arms around her tenderly, and she willingly stepped into his embrace this time. They swayed silently to the music. Épiphanie rested her head on his shoulder and Draco stroked her hair.

 _Discover me again. Discover us._

 _If we fall, we fall together._

 _Always._


	36. Set Adrift on Memory Bliss…

**_Set Adrift on Memory Bliss…_**

"Fancy spending the Easter break at Malfoy Manor?" Draco sat down beside Épiphanie, brushing her hair back and nuzzling her neck. She edged away from him and snorted.

"As if! You really think my dad would agree to his underage daughter spending a week alone with a wizard of… _dubious…_ moral standards?" she gave him a wink and turned her concentration back to the official-looking form she was filling in. A bevy of owls began landing in front of her, bearing various packages and other mail.

"What's all this?" Draco asked.

"Wand Permit Application." She said. "I'm not feeling all that cool about providing all these details. It almost makes me want to leave it home—no, after all I've been through with this thing, it stays with me. And these—" She pointed to the largest packages. "Are probably my new dress robes from Madam Malkin." She began to unburden the owls, who were impatiently waiting for attention. The other Slytherins nearby looked on curiously.

"Wand Permit Application and dress robes? What for?"

"Dad is making an official State visit to MACUSA, and guess whose presence is _mandatory?_ Tours of MACUSA, Ilvermorny, USA Quidditch training center, _and_ I have a keynote speech to present at the Salem Witches Institute's Spring Convocation. Yaaay," she said unenthusiastically.

"Oh. Well, erm…"

"You know, I would much rather spend it with you and the gang, but what can I do? Such is the life of The Minister's kid I guess. Since I was raised in the U.S., it's kind of a big deal." She gave a regal wave. "It's weird, though. I mean, coming here was like—whoa, but it was different and new. Going back there with a title and all that seems—I dunno." She shrugged. "Hey, I'll take lots of pictures and send them to you. Why don't you invite Harry and the gang out to The Manor?" she suggested.

"Yea-ah, no. I don't think that will work. Besides, I'm fairly certain that nothing short of an Imperius curse will ever get Hermione back into Malfoy Manor," he replied. Épiphanie looked at him curiously. "My dear, departed, deranged Auntie Bella did torture her and then threaten to murder her on the floor of the drawing room." He grimaced. She looked at him in horror.

"Is that why you don't want to go back?" she asked.

"It's one of the reasons, yes. I know I should go and begin seeing to affairs there, especially with Mother still abroad. I honestly don't believe that she plans to return. She's been at our villa in Tuscany since just after the trial ended. She wrote last week about going to Spain and staying there until summer."

"How many homes do you own?" Épiphanie asked. Draco squinted as he considered her question.

"Well, there's the Manor, and Antares Hall, of course. I also received in my birthright, an apartment in Paris and a lovely holiday home in Martinique. There's the villa and vineyards in Tuscany, a residence in Monte Carlo—mother hates it there. An estate in the South of France—we share that with the Black family—well, I guess that would be Harry now. Hm, I wonder if he knows about it.

"Wow!"

"But my dearest, I happen to know that the Shacklebolt family also has a number of homes. The Minister has a fine residence in Worthing, as well as a home in Ethiopia, as well as a lovely beachfront property in Jamaica." Draco snagged a piece of toast and spread some jam on it.

" _Really_? But you didn't know that he lived across the street from your own house?" Épiphanie smirked.

"I didn't even know the location of Antares Hall until I first landed within the property, so I would have had no idea. Clearly Lucius had no idea either. I'm sure he would have sold Kingsley out to The Dark Lord without a second thought."

"Why do you call him the Dark Lord, and Harry and the others call him Tom Riddle?"

Draco shrugged. "I dunno. Differences in perception I suppose. I'm certainly glad that he's gone. There's just that taint that he left on The Manor."

"So change it. I thought the place was rather dark and depressing myself."

"Shall I paint it pastel pink?" he scoffed. She cut her eyes at him.

"Draco, remember when I told you to be the change that you want to see? Just because it's been done the same way for centuries, doesn't mean it has to stay that way. It's _your_ estate. Turn it into a place that you would be happy with. Hell, burn it to the ground if you like. Start over from scratch. I wish I could spend the holiday with you, but maybe this was meant to be an opportunity for self-reflection—as long as it doesn't include an endless swim in the fountain or any calming draughts chased with hash. You have to do the work—starting from the inside." She gave him a pointed look.

"Touché, my love." He kissed her cheek. "Perhaps, if I had something to remember you by in your absence…"

"It's Lent. No vices. Besides, that is a privilege reserved for one who has earned my _trust_ ," she replied, her tone reminding him that he had yet a ways to go before she would fully forgive him. She waved her wand at the numerous packages and they stacked themselves in an orderly pile. Draco groaned in frustration.

"In the hope to meet shortly again, and make our absence sweet."

"Dearest, I am always with thee." She smiled and laid a finger alongside her temple. She stood and began gathering all of her parcels.

They looked up to see Professors Slughorn and McGonagall approaching the table.

"Good morning, Headmistress, Professor Slughorn." Draco took the larger packages from Épiphanie.

"Mr. Malfoy." The Headmistress nodded.

"Draco." Their head of house gave them a smile. "That's quite a haul, young lady!"

"Yes sir, preparations for the holiday," Épiphanie replied.

"Ah, yes! A state visit! How thrilling!" the professor gushed. Épiphanie shrugged.

"Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt, if you would care to join us in my office after you have secured your belongings?" Minerva interrupted what she was sure would be an effusive litany of Slughorn's most notable students.

"Yes, ma'am."

Épiphanie stepped off the moving staircase and into The Headmistress' office a little while later and took a seat beside Professor Slughorn.

"Thank you for your promptness, Épiphanie. I see that you and Mr. Malfoy have mended your fences."

"We're working on it." She bit her lip.

"Excellent. Now then, I've called this conference in order to enquire about your decisions for the future. Normally, these sessions take place in a student's fifth year, prior to O.W.L.s examinations. Of course, yours is a special situation, so we thought it best to have this discussion ahead of revisions for your N.E.W.T. examinations."

"You have proven yourself to be most exceptional, young lady. Few witches or wizards of your age would have managed so gracefully to enter school at such a late date and excel beyond her age level so quickly!" Professor Slughorn gushed. "Completing N.E.W.T. levels in one school year! I daresay you've outshone Miss Granger and even our Mr. Potter!"

"Thank you, sir. I suppose Ma Mère should receive some of that credit." Épiphanie was a little embarrassed by the praise.

"Épiphanie have you had the opportunity to give any thought to what you will do when you finish school?" Minerva asked her.

"I—I guess I really don't know, ma'am. I always thought that I would finish high school and apply to college. Is there wizarding college? Do we _go_ to college?" she asked.

"Well, most witches and wizards who have the requisite N.E.W.T. scores are able to go into the career of their choice upon leaving school. However, there are some who choose to apprentice for masters in certain disciplines such as Potions or Herbology. There is training available for Healers and Mediwizards. I understand that you assisted Madame Pomfrey with the arrival of a certain surprise. However did you think to conjure a birthing chair?"

"Oh, um. Ma Mére had one. Tante Celeste is a holistic midwife. She uses one quite a bit." Épiphanie bit her lip.

"I see. Well there is quite a plethora of careers from which to choose. You have a talent that, with the scores I'm sure you will obtain, would be suitable in any one of them. And yes, some witches and wizards—mostly muggleborn and half-blood—do in fact attend university if they wish. Given your dual citizenship, there are also unique career choices available to you in America."

Épiphanie exhaled slowly, giving The Headmistress a look of wonder. "Wow. This is heavy!"

"I'm sorry? Is there a weight upon you? What's heavy, my dear?" Professor Slughorn.

"Oh, no sir. It's just an expression we have in America. It's a muggle thing—like um, overwhelming." She explained. The professor nodded, but a perplexed expression remained on his face and he studied her as if looking for the source of the weight.

"I understand that it can be daunting. I would encourage you to speak to your peers and some of the professors. Perhaps while you are abroad, you will have an opportunity to have this discussion with your parents. I understand that you will be seeing your mother?"

"I hope to have the opportunity for a visit."

"Very good. Now then, here is a list of some careers you may be interested in with descriptions of the jobs and requisite skills. If you have any questions at all, do let me or Professor Slughorn know." She passed Épiphanie a number of pamphlets.

"Thank you, ma'am." She glanced through the list and pamphlets. "Executioner? Um—no. Maybe not that one."

"Oho! Wise choice!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed. They all laughed.

"Wait! I could play professional Quidditch?" Épiphanie opened a pamphlet describing the professional teams.

"Oh, yes!" Minerva perked up at this. "Making a team is quite competitive and trials are not offered on a regular basis, but scouts are always on the lookout for fresh young talent. There is also the national team—here and in the United States."

Épiphanie thought she detected a slight note of wistfulness in The Headmistress' voice. She gave her a smile.

"I wonder what my dad would have to say about that," she said. "There's a lot to look at here. Thank you, Professor."

"Of course."

Épiphanie was still debating her possible career choices, and wondering if she could even compete with professional quidditch players, as the weekend rolled around. The entire school was stunned to watch Ravenclaw defeat Gryffindor 130 to 50, with Harry losing the snitch to a third-year Seeker. However embarrassing the loss, Ravenclaw's victory wasn't enough to knock the Lions out of Cup contention. With their scores in the Cup standings tied at 480, the Quidditch Cup match would pit the two bitter rivals, Gryffindor and Slytherin in just a few weeks. Despite the mountain of work that the instructors set, students still found time to engage in spirited debate with each other and their professors about the likely outcome of the match.

On the day of the train's departure for London a week later, Draco and Épiphanie stood on the platform and bid farewell to their friends. Draco planned to apparate to Malfoy Manor and Kingsley was meeting Épiphanie at the castle that evening with a portkey to New Orleans where they would celebrate Easter with Angelique before beginning their tour.

"Will you be okay?" Épiphanie looked into Draco's cool grey eyes.

"I plan to conduct a full property inventory. I'll be far too busy to think of anything too mawkish." He gave her a smile. She touched his face, happy to see that he had resumed taking an interest in his appearance. His pale cheeks were smooth and his sleek platinum tresses had been neatly trimmed to shoulder length, their ethereal glow making him appear far more innocent than anyone knew him to be. Draco wore a crisp oxford shirt in emerald green with a charcoal cashmere blazer and black jeans. She had admired the way his backside looked in the dark denim when they walked down to the station.

He escorted her back to the gates and gave her a kiss. The intense passion that they had previously shared had dimmed, but the magical connection remained an Draco was buoyed by the feeling, his heart aching just a bit as he watched her walk back up the path before he turned and apparated.

He landed in the grand entrance hall and was surprised to be greeted by his two beloved greyhounds, Castor and Pollux. Draco ad believed that the dogs were either killed or had escaped the estate during the occupation by Voldemort. He wondered now what had happened to his father's Borzoï hounds as he vaguely remembered the stately dogs shrinking away from the great snake, Nagini, but he couldn't remember where they might have disappeared to.

"Hello, my boys!" he crouched to pet the slender blue canines, reveling in their affection as if he'd only been gone for a day. "Where have you been? Were you hiding from me?"

The dogs followed him into the study where he poured himself a brandy and took a seat by the fire, sipping languidly as the two animals rested at his feet.

"Pippy!" he called. Seconds later, a tiny house elf appeared.

"Yes, master—L-Lucius?" she stammered, her face a mask of fear and confusion.

"No, Pippy. It's me, Draco." He pulled his hair away from his face.

"Oh! Pippy is so s-sorry, Master Draco! Pippy is confused. M-master's hair—Pippy is not meaning to—" the elf cowered, reaching for the fireplace tools.

"Pippy, stop! You are _not_ to harm yourself, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Master Draco." She held her hands together tightly to resist the urge for self-flagellation.

"Pippy, I was wondering where Castor and Pollux came from. Where have they been all this time?"

"Oh, sir! Castor and Pollux was never lost! When the Dark Lord came to stay, the pups were frightened. Pippy and Tickety was hiding Master Draco's pups behind the horses' house, sir! Pippy wanted to rescue Master Lucius' Borzoïs too, but they was not liking the horses and ran away. Master Lucius was most furious!"

"You saved my dogs?" Draco was astounded.

"Yes, Master! We is knowing how much Master is loving his pups!" she replied.

"Thank you, Pippy!" he smiled at the elf. She stared at him in shock. He laughed. "It's okay, Pip. There are things that are going to change around here. I want you to go to Antares Hall and fetch Diggy and Tickety. I shall need them to help you with some of the changes I have in mind."

"Yes, sir!" The elf disappeared with a pop.

Draco savored his brandy and watched the fire absently as he pondered just what changes he would like to make. First and foremost was maintaining some sense of sobriety. He looked at the snifter in his hand.

"This doesn't count," he said to himself. "I'm still sober, and I'm only having the one glass." He swirled the glass and drained it, setting it on the side table and closing his eyes. "I miss you already, my love."

Épiphanie stared around in awe as she followed her father down the lane in the Magic Quarter. Their portkey had deposited them in a hall that reminded her of a bus station. There was a row of windows above a counter at one end where witches and wizards, holding what looked like boarding passes, queued to receive a portkey. They then proceeded to cubicles on one side, where they gathered with any others who were traveling with them, to depart. On the opposite side of the room, groups of witches and wizards were arriving by portkey in similar cubicles. There were benches along the center of the hall and an area near the exit held rows of lockers for luggage and belongings. She was amazed at the efficiency of it all as they exited the building and stepped out onto the street. The street appeared much like the other avenues in the Vieux Carre, except for its much more antiquated appearance. Like stepping back in time, the streets were cobblestoned, and gas lamps flickered on the corners. The buildings were two and three stories high, most with living quarters above some type of magical business. She was quite surprised by the number of clothiers whose shops dotted the quarter. There was Cosette's Quality Cloaks, and Bruneau: Makers of Fine Men's Robes Since 1799. Further along the street, she saw Fanchon's Couturièr, which apparently specialized in dress robes for women, a children's robe shop with a display of Ilvermorny uniforms in the window, and a maker of work robes. There were, of course, the other usual wizarding businesses as well—a wandmaker, owl and pet shop, bank, bookshop, broomstick dealer, and the apothecary that Ignace and Iolanthe's parents owned. The street was quite busy as wizards and witches went about their daily business. Épiphanie was also quite surprised to find that many of them wore muggle clothing. She inhaled deeply as they passed a café with an outdoor seating area and paid little attention to where they were headed, until her father stopped abruptly and she nearly walked into his broad back.

Kingsley tapped his wand to a disc in the middle of the door and it was immediately opened by a slender young man with curly hair and a thin moustache. He ushered them inside and up to a security desk.

"I shall have to check your wands and permits please, Minister," said an officious looking woman wearing blue and white robes and a severe bun that reminded Épiphanie of Professor McGonagall. Her father handed over his wand and nodded for Épiphanie to do the same. She looked surprised, but quickly complied, drawing her wand from the inside pocket of her jacket.

"What's this?" she asked, curiously.

"Security check," her father replied. "Something like customs."

"Please stand just there, sir." The woman pointed to a circle a few feet from the desk. Kingsley stepped into the circle and the woman pointed her wand at him.

"Hey!" Épiphanie reached for her wand.

"It's fine, my child. It's just a formality." Épiphanie drew her hand back and watched skeptically as the woman spoke.

"Revelio!" A blue light erupted from her wand and surrounded Kingsley before fading away. "Thank you, Minister. Now you, Miss." The woman nodded for Épiphanie to step into the circle. Épiphanie reluctantly stepped into the circle, with her arms crossed and a look of uncertainty on her face. The woman repeated the incantation and again, there was no effect. "Thank you, Miss."

The woman gave them back their wands and the slender young man returned, ushering them down a corridor to an office with a frosted glass window. The lettering on the window read _Department of Magical Law Enforcement-New Orleans Division._ Underneath was the name of the director, Michael Robichaux. The young man rapped on the door and opened it. Michael Robichaux was younger than Épiphanie expected. He was a tall, sturdily built man who looked to be in his early to mid-thirties with sandy, close-cropped hair and bright blue eyes. He stood when they entered.

"Minister Shacklebolt. It is an honor to have you in our city. I have to say we are beside ourselves to discover our own Petite Marie is in fact a witch, and the daughter of such a respected wizard!" He looked at Épiphanie then. "Miss Glapion—er—Shacklebolt?"

"Glapion-Shacklebolt, or just Shacklebolt. Heck, Épiphanie's fine with me. It ain't so much of a mouthful." She shrugged. He laughed.

"Well, I'm sure you're anxious to get to your destination, so we will dismiss with the formalities, if that is alright with you, sir?"

"It's perfectly fine. I understand that there is a security detail?" Kingsley asked.

"Yes sir. MACUSA has sent a detail of our top Aurors. You will each have an escort detail to accompany you while you are in the city. We have undercovers patrolling the Vieux Carre streets around La Maison Duminy de Glapion at all times. When you depart for New York, we will provide a secure portkey from this office."

"Excellent. Well, if there is nothing further, I believe we should like to proceed to La Maison Duminy de Glapion at this time."

"Right, we have arranged with Ms. Glapion a secure apparition arrival point at La Maison Duminy de Glapion. She's expecting you."

They were introduced to their escort detail, and Épiphanie was chagrined to learn that she was not to go anywhere without her security detail.

"And you will remove the wards around your bedroom as well, young lady," said Kingsley as they stepped back into the corridor.

"Oh, my God! I can't believe they snitched on me!" she moaned. Her father chuckled.

Angelique burst into the sitting room the moment that they apparated in, her arms wide. Épiphanie dropped her bags and ran into her mother's hug. Her aunts stepped in just behind Angelique and greeted everyone warmly. A banquet was laid in the courtyard and with their usual hospitality, they invited the Aurors to join them. As the afternoon wore into the evening, Épiphanie reluctantly removed the protections around her room and went to draw a warm bath. As she sat in the tub blowing suds from her hand, she could hear music floating up from the sitting room. Occasionally, her mother's melodic titter rang out, joined by her father's low laughter. She smiled and closed her eyes and whispered.

" _Legilimens."_

Épiphanie looked up into her father's smiling face. His eyes were lit up as she'd not seen them before. They were dancing!

" _You remember that?"_ he asked.

" _Of course I do! I wondered why someone who seemed so worldly otherwise, didn't know a_ single _popular dance! Well—except The Hustle!"_ Angelique's voice echoed.

" _I must confess that I didn't know The Hustle either._ "

" _You're kidding! You certainly danced it like you were auditioning for Soul Train! How did you pick it up so fast?_ "

" _I watched you. I'm generally a quick study, and it wasn't too far different from the quadrilles that I'd learned as a child attending balls with my parents."_

 _"Well, honey you sure had me impressed! It was like you became a totally different person that night, just light and happy and smiling…"_ Angelique thought back to their experience at a London discotheque.

" _You did that for me. You took me away from the terrible things that were happening in my world. I never wanted to let you go. I wished I could have told you the truth then. I never would have dreamed that you managed to figure it out on your own."_ Kingsley's eyes took on a reflective look.

" _I may not have inherited Ma Mère's magic, but I'm still pretty perceptive. After all, this place was a success before our darling little sorceress began exhibiting her powers."_

 _"Yes, well…Angelique, I never stopped missing you. When I look at Épiphanie, I see so much of you in her face. I wonder what it might have been like for us to have been a family all along…perhaps we might have had other children…Why did you never marry?"_ He asked.

" _I could ask you the same thing."_

 _"There was a war. I was an Auror. It just wasn't a good idea."_ He pulled her closer.

" _Your friends married didn't they? Harry's parents? I'm sure there were others who did too."_

 _"Yes, and they died. Others have been left permanently damaged by their experiences. Their children were left behind. Some of those children had no idea that they were wizards. The things that they experienced in the second war—the final battle…I—I couldn't do that…but I suppose that I did, didn't I?"_ He looked away from her. She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his gaze back to her.

" _You did what you thought was best. I thought you were some kind of government agent with a life of danger. I didn't think you would understand my beliefs—a lot of people outside of New Orleans and this local culture don't get it. The Glapion women don't always do well in relationships. Few of us marry, so I wasn't too bothered. We both made the choice, Kingsley. We can't change yesterday. We can only delight in the beautiful creation that we had a hand in and look forward to what tomorrow brings."_

 _"I never stopped—"_

 _"Neither did I."_ Kingsley inclined his head towards hers.

Épiphanie blinked and abruptly sat up, splashing water over the side of the bathtub. She shuddered, and berated herself for delving into her mother's consciousness. Were her parents falling in love again?

Draco dozed fitfully in the quiet of the mansion. A fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead. When he closed his eyes, he could hear Lucius calling his name. The man held out the flask with the silvery vapor.

"All you have to do is drink, Draco. All of your cares will be gone!"

"No! You're not real! You're done, Lucius!"

"You're not fit to be Lord of the Manor! _You_ are the weak one!"

"I am _stronger than you, Lucius!_ I _am_ Lord of Malfoy Manor! I will not destroy its legacy!"

"Draco." A soft, familiar voice intoned close to his ear. He turned his head to see Épiphanie smiling gently at him, her head on the pillow beside him.

"Épiphanie? What? How?"

"I'm always here when you need me, Ma Furet." She kissed his nose.

"But you're—" he stammered. This couldn't be real.

"Shhh…" She was above him now, kissing his forehead, his eyes, his lips. She drank him in.

Draco stared at her in awe as she made quick work of removing his pyjamas, planting a trail of kisses down his chin. She lingered over his throat, licking it, her tongue trailing gently to his chest. He let out a groan and lifted his hips, seeking out the warm cleft between her thighs.

"Patience, my love!" she whispered, pushing him down. She continued her ministrations, working her way down his abdomen. Draco stared down at her as she kissed his navel, her tongue making lazy circles around it. She gazed up at him and gave him a wink before disappearing under the covers.

"Oh, _Merlin!"_ he exclaimed, closing his eyes and gripping the sheets. The halls of the Manor echoed with Draco's moans of utter pleasure and unbridled ecstasy. He arched his back, convulsing under the exquisite torture that his beloved meted out. "Oh! Oh! Ma Zirondelle! I love you, Dragonfly! Oh! Ah! Oh! Are you really real?"

She dragged her fingernails down his skin and he twisted her hair in his fists and held her until he feared he might have suffocated her. Finally, Draco let out a guttural cry she extracted from him the last tortuous ounce of decadent, carnal satisfaction. He lay panting among the downy pillows of the large ornate bed, his hair damp with sweat.

"This has to be a dream! But it can't be! It feels so real!" he exclaimed, reaching out to her.

"Of course it's a dream, mon cher. That doesn't mean it can't be real." She disappeared.

A thin sliver of bright sunlight fell across the darkened room and Draco awoke gently, clutching a pillow to his chest, Épiphanie's name on his lips. His eyes fluttered open slowly as he murmured to his beloved.

"I love you, Ma Zirondelle. Stay with me always, my love." As wakefulness roused him completely, Draco realized that he was alone in bed. The dogs panted softly as they slept before the fireplace. He drew back the covers to see that he was fully attired in pyjamas, although there was nonetheless, telltale evidence of his amazing late night experience. Diggy appeared with a pop and Draco quickly drew the covers back up to his chest. The elf bowed low.

"Good morning, Master Draco!" he squeaked. "Would Sir like to take breakfast in the dining room or here?"

"I shall take light croissants and café au lait in the dining room, Diggy. Thank you. If the owls have arrived, please see that the paper is beside my plate. I shall be down directly."

The elf bowed and disappeared with a pop. Draco fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "It felt so real!" he breathed and tried to recall the feeling to the fore of his memory once again. His body responded immediately and he took himself in hand to relieve the tension. Having succeeded in finding release in the morning hours, yet disappointed that he could not completely recreate the intense passion of his dreams, he trudged to the bathroom to attend to his morning rituals. Draco peered into the mirror over the sink, pleased to see a face that was not dogged by shadows of weariness. He raked his fingers through his hair, flicking his wand to the large stone shower. Steaming water flowed from spouts in the ceiling and surrounding walls behind a wall of semi-transparent crystal. He unbuttoned his shirt, startled to find bright red scratches running down his skin.

 _That doesn't mean it can't be real._

"Sweet Merlin! It _was_ real!" he exclaimed, stripping off the rest of his clothes and stepping into the shower. Draco relished in the sting of the hot water and thought of Épiphanie once more, slouching on the shower bench, his back against the smooth stone wall with the water coursing over his pale skin as he concentrated on the memory of the dream escapade, taking himself in hand once more until he'd coaxed out the last intense convulsion of pleasure.

"It's only Monday! I'll never survive this week!" he panted, washing quickly and stepping out of the shower. He dressed comfortably in a pair of jeans and the thick Dillard University sweatshirt that Épiphanie had given him for Christmas along with the Timberland boots that he'd purchased the previous summer. Draco combed his hair, tying it in a ponytail, and patted his thigh, calling the dogs before exiting the suite and heading down to the dining hall.

"What the devil are you wearing, boy! It's _unseemly!_ " The portrait of Abraxas Malfoy looked down in unadulterated disgust at his grandson as he took his seat at the table in The Manor's dining hall.

"Good morrow to you, Grandfather." Draco stirred sugar into his coffee and rolled his eyes.

"What would your father say to see you attired in such ghastly apparel?" the old man continued to rant.

"I don't know, Grandfather, and since he is _dead_ , I should supposed that it matters not one way or the other whether I wear muggle clothing in _my_ home, now does it?" Draco picked up the morning paper.

"Shameful!" the portrait exclaimed.

"Grandfather, if you continue to carry on in such a manner, I shall be forced to have the elves remove your portraits to the south paddock." Draco looked squarely at the portrait.

"Hmph!" the old man pursed his lips and left the frame.

"Dotty old fart!" Draco mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee and unfolding the paper and read the headline. MINISTER OF MAGIC TOURS MACUSA. He gazed at the large photograph showing Kingsley Shacklebolt shaking hands with MACUSA President William Ritz as Épiphanie looked on. Her hair was braided away from her face in the front and she wore a set of light colored robes that were fitted through the waist, and featured Guinevere sleeves. He only skimmed the article and was unsurprised to find that the reporter used several inches of space to describe the Minister's Daughter's sophisticated sense of modern magical style. He traced his finger over the picture as he watched her accept a bouquet of flowers as she smiled and waved at the crowd that was gathered for the event.

So went the rest of the week. Draco had the best sleep he'd experienced in a long while, awakened with the morning sun and trekked to breakfast in anticipation of seeing Épiphanie on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Tuesday, there was a photo spread of Épiphanie giving a speech at the Salem Witches Institute and attending a state dinner and a ball with Kingsley, the President of MACUSA and Canadian dignitaries. Draco longed to be the one whirling her around the dance floor instead of her father and a boy who was identified as the son of some Quidditch team owner. His jealousy was tempered somewhat by the fact that her eyes did not seem as dazzled when she danced with the American as they did when he took the floor with her on New Year's Eve.

Each morning he left the breakfast table with the paper and headed to the study, where he carefully placed the paper in the drawer of the massive mahogany desk with the inlaid leather top and settled into the well-worn chair upholstered in the same material. By Wednesday, he had managed to decipher Lucius' filing system and sorted the business parchments that had been left behind. A flurry of owls to Gringotts helped to ensure that the pending deals did not fall through or leave Draco paying for worthless investments. He was grateful that Lucius did in fact have some level of business acumen and did not throw money around wastefully—unless he was bribing someone to do his bidding.

It was on this morning that he sat at the desk with a second cup of coffee, watching Épiphanie flying with the USA Quidditch team at their practice facility in New England and being presented with official Team USA Quidditch robes by the team's captain, Gianni Fedele. Now Draco officially considered himself jealous as he watched her eyes light up over and over again. He turned the paper face down on the stack that he had collected, opening the top drawer of the desk to place them aside when a small headline caught his eye. He picked up the paper and read the article carefully a few times. Draco scratched his chin. This could very well be just the inspiration that he needed. He went to the fireplace and tossed in some floo powder.


	37. Great Expectations

**Great Expectations**

"Team USA!" Ginny exclaimed, snatching the paper away from Harry as they sat in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place lingering over their late breakfast. "Wow! I wonder what it was like! Do you think they showed her the Harlem Shuffle?"

Harry drank his tea and watched her with amusement as she scanned the article. There was a flash of green in the fireplace and he looked up to see Draco's head appear in the flames.

"Harry? Are you there?" he asked. Ginny drew her dressing gown together, her eyes wide.

"Draco has your floo address?"

"I gave it to him just after the new year when we were at Antares Hall."

" _Why?"_

"Things have changed, Ginny. It'll be fine. Why don't you get dressed and I'll see what he wants." Harry nodded to the door.

"We are not through discussing this, Harry! What if Ron or Mum had flooed? Have you forgotten that I'm _supposed_ to be at Hermione's?" She gave him a menacing look and rushed out in a huff.

Harry shook his head and turned back to the fireplace. "Come on through, Draco."

A few seconds later, Draco stepped out of the fireplace and into the kitchen. Kreacher gave him a bow and offered him some breakfast.

"No, Kreacher. Thank you, I've eaten. I know it's early, Harry." He sniffed, catching a whiff of something flowery in the air and noticed a second place setting with the remains of eggs and toast on the plate. "Have I…caught you at a bad time?" he asked, arching a brow. Harry shrugged.

"What's on your mind? Worried that Épiphanie has defected for the American team?" Harry smiled.

"Hardly." Draco assumed his cool and aloof tone of voice. "Actually, there was another article that caught my eye. I was wondering if you saw this." He dragged the paper across the table and pointed to the headline near the bottom of the page. Harry adjusted his glasses and read the short article.

"Okay. And?" he looked at Draco curiously.

"Well, what do you think?" Draco demanded. Harry shrugged.

"I've already said that I plan to enter Auror training when school is over. I think if you're really interested, then go for it. At least you have the means to support yourself if it doesn't work out."

"No, I'm thinking of an investment. I'm offering you the opportunity to get involved as a partner. It won't interfere with your plans to become an Auror." Draco sat down and explained his inspiration to him. Harry looked at him skeptically.

"You're serious? Have you really given this thought, Draco? It's a huge undertaking. You need more than just capital. There's land and—"

"I have more than enough land. I know that there's still research to be done, but on the surface I think it's doable. I need something with _my_ mark on it, Harry. I know don't have to do this, I _want_ to. Clearly I can rest on my laurels and live off Lucius' investments and the Malfoy assets for the rest of my life. I want to make something that doesn't have the taint of all the generations of dark dealings that are associated with the Malfoy name. I thought of you first because it's a venture of some interest to you." Draco's voice was almost pleading.

"You _need_ me to convince the Ministry to give you a chance," Harry leveled a serious stare at him. Draco's shoulders slumped.

"Actually, I hadn't even thought of that part…I guess you have a point." He sighed. "Harry, I _need_ this. I want it. If I have any chance of proving myself truly worthy to Épiphanie as anything other than some spoiled, narcissistic, git, I have to do something worthwhile. This is perfect. I have firsthand knowledge, capital—and it will be all mine, not something I inherited or stole, but something that I had a hand in creating."

Harry regarded Draco for several minutes. He looked into his eyes and saw pure passion in them. There was something else in Draco's eyes that gave him pause. He was sober. Draco Malfoy was earnestly begging him to consider his investment idea. He knew that Malfoy was hardly in need of capital for the project, having just found himself in possession of a fortune quite as large and valuable as his own. If he honestly hadn't considered the value of Harry's name being attached to the endeavor in order to secure Ministry approval, then he must have sincerely considered that his new friend would be interested in taking part. Harry heaved a deep sigh.

"I must be crazy. We still haven't settled our Iron Bowl wager. You owe me for talking McGonagall into _that_ project, and we've got a great deal of planning on that before N.E.W.T.s. _IF_ you're serious, then you'll have to prove it. You do the research and come up with a concrete plan for this thing and I'm in."

"You really mean it?" Draco looked at him in surprise.

"I've always been a man of my word, Malfoy." Harry offered his hand. Draco smiled broadly as he took it, shaking it firmly.

Épiphanie smiled for the camera as she accepted a bouquet from a first year Ilvermorny girl. Several flashbulbs strobed before her eyes and she felt a bit dizzy. She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds when they finally stopped and was grateful when she was finally shown to her table in the Dining Hall. Here at Ilvermorny, instead of four long tables running the length of the hall, students dined at round tables, generally seated with friends from their home state or province. Épiphanie was seated at a table with seventh year students from Louisiana and Mississippi.

"So, you're all in different houses?" she asked.

"The only time we really group by house is at the start-of-term feast and end-of-term. There are also special occasions when our houses are grouped together, but even then you'll mostly find the Canadians sitting together. New England, Southerners, California, Northwest—all grouped together in their houses. We just get along differently," explained a blonde girl named Amanda Prescott who identified herself as a Wampus.

"That's cool. I wish we had a setup like this at Hogwarts. No one would _ever_ think of sitting at another house table. Loyalty is a huge deal. Kids mix outside of class, but not a whole lot outside of their house. It's like SEC football." About half of the students at the table laughed. The other half looked on in confusion.

"The purebloods don't get it," said one of the boys. He was a Thunderbird by the name of Michael Montgomery.

"Yeah, I had to explain it to my friends too. After I did, they nicknamed the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match the Iron Bowl," Épiphanie said. That elicited even more laughter from the no-maj—parent students. "So are there many half-blood or muggleborn—I mean no-maj-parent students here?" she asked.

"Meh, maybe about a quarter of us have no-maj parents, and another quarter are half-blood. Rappaport's Law was pretty strict about mixing with no-majs," said Michael. Their plates appeared on the table and the discussion died down for a few minutes as the group eagerly dug into roast chicken and vegetables with mashed potatoes, hot rolls and a choice of pumpkin juice or sweet tea in pitchers.

"My granddaddy had met my nana during summer break in 1962 and he was dating her in secret. They weren't allowed to take their wands home from school back then, so it was a little easier to hide his magic. He said it was harder to explain to her why he didn't understand segregation or that he had never been to a movie theater," said a girl named Antoinette Duplessis. Her braided hair was shaped in a bobbed style.

"Heh. I bet!" Épiphanie exclaimed.

"She said she thought that he was just real country from way out in the bayou."

"So you _really_ didn't know you were a witch until last summer?" asked Amanda.

"Not a clue. I just thought I had some awesome powers."

"And you can do—" Antoinette leaned in and lowered her voice. " _wandless_ magic?"

" _Really?..._ You _can?..._ Can you show us?" the students murmured with interest.

"We-ell, not _really._ " Épiphanie lied. This was not a rumor she wanted to confirm. "Probably any of you can summon things without a wand." She shrugged, grateful at that moment that the dinner plates were cleared and a cluster of dessert trays appeared in the center of the table laden with cupcakes, cookies, petit fours and other pastries.

"Well, is it true that you're friends with Harry Potter?" asked another boy at the table, named Tanner. The Pukwudgie boy's straight, golden hair and genteel drawl reminded Épiphanie a bit of Draco—had he been American. " _The_ Harry Potter?"

"Mm-hmm!" Épiphanie selected a chocolate cupcake and removed the paper cake cup. "He came with my father the first time we met." She took a bite of the amazingly decadent cake.

"Is he _really_ a descendant of Abraham Potter?" Amanda asked.

"Apparently so. A great uncle or some such."

"Damn! I just knew that Iolanthe was making it up!"

"You know, ma mère swore up and down that you were a witch," said Antoinette. "Nobody ever believed that Marie Laveau would have absolutely _no_ magical descendants—even if her children were born to a plaçage with a no-maj."

Épiphanie gave her a look of disdain.

"You are so fuckin' _rude_ , Antoinette!" Tanner exclaimed.

"Well it's common knowledge!" Antoinette argued.

"This is probably why our houses aren't allowed to eat together," Épiphanie. "And it _is_ common knowledge that my ancestor's children were born from a left-handed marriage." Antoinette gave Tanner an I-told-you-so look. Épiphanie took another cupcake from the tray and ran her finger through the icing. "But you should know, Antoinette, that the last person to insult me like that no longer walks with the living." She licked her finger.

"Are you saying that you _killed_ him?" Michael asked.

"Of course not! That doesn't make him any less dead though." Épiphanie poured a glass of tea from the pitcher on the table. "You of all people should also know that I am an _amazing_ legilimens, so if you start that rumor that I killed someone, like you're planning to, it won't bode well for you. Okay, boo?" She sipped her tea, staring the girl down over the rim of her glass. The group was silent for a few moments.

"Daayum, girl! You _gangsta!_ " Michael exclaimed. "I bet they weren't ready for you over there, huh? So check this, I just wanna know. That dude that you were flying with in _Seeker Weekly_ …"

"I guess you mean Draco Malfoy. He's captain of our house team. I didn't know we made _Seeker Weekly._ "

"You kidding? That dive you did after dude knocked you off your broom was freakin' _awesome!_ They're calling it the _Shacklebolt Special!"_

"That's crazy! It was special alright. It was so special that we lost our house 100 points, got two weeks detention and our brooms taken away. My dad threatened to keep my broom indefinitely!"

"Uh-huh. So whassup with the two of you?" Michael asked. Épiphanie gave him an innocent look.

"Inquiring minds wanna know," said Amanda. She rested her chin on her hand. "Spella Weekly showed a picture of you and him at that big New Year's Eve ball. The Sacred Twenty-Eight. He's too cute!" she giggled.

"I think he kinda looks like Tanner—with longer hair. Was he really a Death Eater?" another girl at the table spoke up. The other girls agreed. The boys at the table rolled their eyes and Tanner turned bright red.

"Well? Y'all got a thing, or does a brotha have a chance over here?" Michael pressed.

"Uh, I'll just say that it's complicated."

"Ah, man! She's probably like all y'all other girls—a sucker for an English accent!" Michael groused lightheartedly.

"So which house has the best Quidditch team?" Épiphanie asked eager to change the topic.

Épiphanie was more than grateful when her scheduled public appearances were done and she could enjoy a bit of shopping and sightseeing before they left New York City. She'd purchased souvenirs for her friends as well as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then spent a fair amount of time in Macy's, Barneys, and Bergdorf Goodman searching for a perfect something special for Draco, but nothing really stood out as particularly personal.

Their time apart served to remind her of the feelings that she had developed for him. Being apart felt as if she was missing a part of herself. She could feel his longing for her late at night as she lay, thinking of him. He was fighting his demons for her sake. She delved into his thoughts in the hopes of bringing him some peace. It was the first time she had ever dared to do more than read his thoughts and speak to him. She wove a true fantasy especially for him.

Oddly enough, Draco now seemed to be resisting her. He was concentrating on something. What it was she couldn't seem to figure out, but when she was able to break through, she saw him hard at work and surrounded by numerous parchments and wizards who appeared unfamiliar. Once she found him in deep discussion with Harry and she tried to focus in, but Draco must have felt her, for she was quickly shut out. Nonetheless, in their quiet times, he would once again let his guard down and seemed to be waiting for her. As much as she wanted to find out what he was hiding, Épiphanie wanted to trust Draco to reveal whatever his secret was in his own way and his own time. If she was to trust him, she had to demonstrate that he could trust _her._ Épiphanie found herself inside a small shop with all manner of bespoke jewelry items. Her escorts lingered near the store's entrance as she quietly browsed the glass cases admiring all of the lovely creations when she saw it. She smiled.

"It's perfect!"

Over the remaining days of the week, Malfoy Manor saw a number of owls coming and going and personnel at the Ministry of Magic were curious at the number of visits made by Draco Malfoy, including one on which he was accompanied by Harry Potter. At the close of the meeting, the two wizards found themselves alone in the lift as they returned to the atrium.

"Well, I'll have to admit, I wondered if you could pull it off, Malfoy."

"I wasn't sure that I could. Of course, this was actually the easy part. Now we need people."

"We'll get them," Harry assured him.

"Do you think?"

"I say we start with the people we know. They'll be the easiest to convince, and you already know whether they're up to the job," Harry suggested. "The second phase, is it underway?"

"You should see it, Harry. It's perfect!"


	38. A Triumphant Beat

**_A Triumphant Beat_**

The return trip to Hogsmeade at the end of the Easter break was notably subdued as most upper level students were already experiencing the stress of preparing for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Épiphanie sat quietly watching the scenery roll past the window. She shared to compartment with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. She had hoped that Draco would take the train back to school, but when she and her father arrived home on Saturday evening, she found a note from him explaining that he had important business matters to attend and would meet her in Hogsmeade when the train arrived. He still seemed to be actively blocking her attempts to delve into his thoughts, particularly during the daylight hours, and Épiphanie had grown frustrated. She wondered what he was doing that he felt she wouldn't want to know or wouldn't approve of.

"Harry?" she asked, still looking out of the window at the rolling hills.

"Hm?"

"You met with Draco during the break?" She turned to him now.

Harry shrugged. "We had lunch."

"Did he—how was he? Did he seem cagey or—"

"He seemed fine to me. In fact I would say he was about as clear as I've seen him lately." Harry averted his eyes. Épiphanie noticed this.

" _There's no sense in my attempting legilimency with you, Harry, but why don't I think you're telling me the truth?"_

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed. "We're all sitting here, you know! What's so personal that you can't share?"

"Honestly," added Hermione. "Conversing in a foreign language with others about is quite rude. But parseltongue?"

" _Épiphanie, if Draco is keeping something from you, he must have a good reason to do so."_ Harry gave her a reassuring look, but continued in English. "I don't think it's as bad as all that. He's working very hard to get a grip on a life that continues to beat bludgers at him. All I can say is give him a chance."

Draco was waiting on the platform when the Express arrived in Hogsmeade and despite her misgivings, Épiphanie found herself rushing to him when she disembarked the train. Draco wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet as he embraced her.

"I've missed you so, Ma Zirondelle!" he breathed, inclining his forehead to hers and staring deeply into her eyes.

"Did you really?" she held his gaze.

"So very much!" He cradled her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. "I took your advice about making Malfoy Manor a place that I can be happy with. There are some exciting changes taking place. I hope that I might have the opportunity to share them with you soon." He took her hand and they made their way to the carriages.

"But why were you hiding that from me?" she asked.

"Things are not yet as I would like them to be. I promise to reveal it all to you in due course my lady." He kissed her fingers and held the door to an empty carriage.

"Draco—"

"Please, Dragonfly. I promise that you can trust me. I just want it to be perfect."

Épiphanie climbed into the carriage and reluctantly let the matter drop.

The upper level Hogwarts students were immediately immersed in what they surely felt was a sea of work as teachers began reviewing for exams in earnest. Younger students bore the brunt of the toll that the endless amounts of work and time studying was having on the fifth and seventh years. The older students were snappish and emotional as they yelled at the younger students to be quiet in the common rooms. They vied for secluded spaces in the library, going so far as to attempt protection charms on their preferred tables, much to the chagrin of Madame Pince.

Épiphanie spent much of her time studying with Hermione and Ginny. She happily accepted Hermione's highly detailed study schedule and planner to help her keep track of her work. She was disappointed to discover that while Harry and Ron would occasionally join them in the library, Draco was rarely present. Sometimes she would find him in a different section of the library hunched over parchments that he would quickly vanish when she approached, or chatting up students from other houses. This she certainly found odd, as besides their Gryffindor friends, Draco never engaged students from the other houses outside of the classroom.

When they weren't studying, Harry and Draco were pushing the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams harder than they had all season. To ensure fairness, Madame Hooch gave the Gryffindors the pitch on even days with the Slytherins practicing on odd days. Épiphanie tried to approach Draco following practice, but found that he had already left the training rooms before she finished dressing. She sat alone in The Great Hall, stabbing her dinner with her fork when he entered with Harry and Professor Flitwick. Instead of joining her at the table, he went to the Hufflepuff table and approached a sixth year student that she thought was named Donovan Mackey. They moved away from the tables and talked animatedly near the entrance for several minutes before giving each other a fist bump and Draco approached the Slytherin table wearing a broad smile. He bounced onto the bench beside Épiphanie and leaned to give her a peck on the cheek. Épiphanie threw her hand up and Draco got a face full of palm instead.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I would certainly like to know," Épiphanie replied dryly. "Are you even studying for N.E.W.T.s?"

"Absolutely! In fact, I wondered if you wanted to work on the practical exams tonight."

"Oh, so _now_ you have time for me?" Épiphanie feigned shock and surprise. "I'm so honored!"

"Épiphanie, really? I'm very sorry that I have been neglecting you, my dearest. I assure you that I _am_ more than prepared for exams. I am also working very hard on a project that will benefit us both."

Épiphanie turned to him and looked searchingly at his eyes. They bore no trace effects of being under the influence of potions or drugs. She looked more closely at him, but the images in his mind were hazy.

 _Why are you shutting me out?_

 _Because I'm not ready yet. Please trust me!_

She did not have an opportunity to respond before Professor McGonagall pushed her chair away from the staff table and the Headmistress' lectern appeared at the front of the Great Hall.

"May I have your attention, please!" The chatter in The Hall died down and the students all gave their attention to the Headmistress. "All of you are no doubt aware that this weekend marks the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the _end_ of the second wizarding war. Our year thus far has been a most successful one. I am pleased with the way that you all have made the most of the opportunities afforded you in your magical education. Many of our older students sacrificed a great deal just to be able to see this day. Many others sacrificed all that they had." She paused a moment and her words hung in the air. "Hogwarts shall commemorate all who have fought in the battle to defeat darkness with a number of activities that both memorialize those we have lost, honor those who so bravely fought, and celebrate a glorious future. All classes on Friday will end at noon. We have invited Hogwarts Alumni, parents and friends to join us on the castle grounds for an afternoon fête. On Sunday morning, we shall host our Memorial Observance." She paused once more before continuing. "I am also pleased to announce that through the work of certain benefactors who wish to remain anonymous, Hogwarts will host the First Annual Spring Promenade on Saturday evening, following our Quidditch Cup match between Slytherin and Gryffindor." At this statement, The Hall erupted with murmurs of excitement. Professor McGonagall raised her hand, and the students quieted once again. "Let me remind you, however, that there will be a number of government officials and visiting dignitaries present throughout the weekend. As such, I expect that Hogwarts will happily present its most positive face." She scanned the rows of tables. "Now, please continue your meals. I am sure that many of you have studying to complete."

"Spring Promenade? Wait—we're having a _prom?_ " Épiphanie exclaimed. "This was your idea?" she turned to him.

"Well, I came up with the idea and pitched it to Harry after the first match. We decided that I would match the gold I won from Harry in our wager and we took the idea to McGonagall. We knew that Hogwarts would be planning some sort of memorial, and I thought that it would be a good idea if we could do something to bring something light to the proceedings. Harry had the idea of the fête where parents and alumni could attend. Professor McGonagall even made arrangements for the muggle parents to be able to come, so none of the students would feel left out."

"So this is what you've been up to all this time?"

"Some of it. I shan't reveal the rest of my surprises until later." He smiled at her. "So, my love, do you forgive me? Because honestly, shutting you out has been horrifically difficult. You are quite a strong legilimens. The headaches are nearly unbearable."

"I'm sorry, Ma Furet. I'll try not to be so nosy. Harry told me on the train that I should trust you."

"Think nothing of it, my darling. I would endure any amount pain if it makes you happy. Besides," Draco brushed his lips along the curve of her neck. He nipped at her ear. "I'm sure you will make it up to me somehow," he whispered.

The air was abuzz with excitement as classes came to a close on Friday at noon. A parade of students marched down to Hogsmeade station to await the arrival of the Hogwarts Express which had been commissioned to bring the parents of muggleborn students to the school. There was a great cheer when the scarlet steam engine chugged into the station. Excited students rushed forward to greet their parents and siblings.

On the castle grounds, several marquees were set up with refreshments, and entertainment venues dotted the lawns. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was by far the largest attraction of all and George thoroughly reveled in showing off many of his latest creations. For the first time in the school's history, wizarding parents mingled with muggle parents in the shadow of Hogwarts Castle. The Golden Trio and Épiphanie found themselves constantly besieged by children and adults alike clamoring for autographs. She was grateful when the hour came for the Slytherin team to head to the pitch for a final practice. The castle and grounds had the overall feel of a high festival and the day ended with an amazing fireworks display by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that reflected over the lake. Tents were set up around the lawns to accommodate the number of guests and muggle parents were astounded to enter the well-appointed temporary homes for the night.

On Saturday morning, the festive atmosphere continued through the early hours as a queue formed outside of the Quidditch pitch, which appeared to have been transformed to accommodate the larger than normal crowd with an upper deck of seating. It escaped no one's notice that security was extremely tight, with Aurors checking wands at the gate, as it appeared that every resident of Hogsmeade village was making their way through the castle gates and up to the pitch. There was also a special contingent of security around the grounds and again checking spectators as they entered the Quidditch arena.

Hogwarts alumni sang songs of old and were soon joined by their younger compatriots as supporters of both teams sang and cheered for their favorites. In the training rooms below, both teams anxiously donned their gear, checking and rechecking that their armor was secure and their brooms were perfectly trimmed. Épiphanie paced in her dressing area, her robes swishing with each turn. She tucked the green and silver ribbons that she had braided into her hair for the game and smoothed a gloved hand over her face before joining the rest of the team in the training room for a last minute tactical discussion. Draco was again encouraging them to run up the score in anticipation of a dogfight for the snitch.

"I heard there's scouts out there for Puddlemere, Holyhead and a couple of new expansion teams," said Vaisey.

"That's not our worry, Blake. We want The Cup. Beaters, you have to cover the chasers so that they can score. Weasley and Bell are going to come in hard after the quaffle and believe Ron has been working on his weak side, so keep him guessing…"

In the Gryffindor training room, the speech that Harry gave was much the same. "Alright then, there's no telling what Épiphanie picked up at her visit to USA Quidditch. We have to anticipate anything. Beaters keep a clean game and don't try to kill her—I'm certain the entire Ministry of Magic is out there. That doesn't mean we can't keep her off her guard. Ron, remember to cover your weak side. Slytherin is going to be aiming for it. They're going to go for theatrics, let's stick to the basics and wear them down. Keep your eyes on their beaters…"

Runners were dispatched to inform the teams that it was time to line up, as Madame Hooch's whistle could barely be heard above the din of the spectators. When the two teams were lined up in the tunnel, Professor McGonagall, Minister Shacklebolt, ICW Supreme Mugwump Akingbade, and a number of special guest wizards entered a specially appointed tower.

"Good Day, students of Hogwarts, parents, Minister of Magic and Special Guests! Welcome to the 1999 Hogwarts Quidditch Cup Championship! My name is Torrance Hardcastle and I will be your announcer for this match. Welcome our teams for today. The Slytherin Serpents!" A shout rang out from the crowd and green and silver banners waved in the air. "And the Gryffindor Lions!" Another shout roared through the arena as scarlet and gold banners were lifted in jubilation. "Both teams are tied in the cup standings with 480 points! This is sure to be a hot contest of amazing fliers! And the teams are meeting at the center of the pitch with our referee for the day, Madame Rolanda Hooch! The captains, Potter and Malfoy are shaking hands…and the snitch is released, followed by the bludgers. Madame Hooch has the quaffle…aannnd we're off! …Gryffindor has started strong with Dean Thomas snatching the quaffle from the grip of Blaise Zabini! …Thomas, Bell and Weasley go for an immediate power play and charge the Slytherin goal…Thomas for the score…OH! _Denied_ by Harper! …the quaffle is back in play and Glapion-Shacklebolt takes possession…she's a hard one to beat on her TurboXXX! She's low over her broom…And a bludgers just barely misses her as she executes an amazing twirl! …and OH! It looks like she's going for the Porskoff Ploy…Yes! She passes to Zabini who shoots… _he scores!_ And Weasley is _not_ happy! …the quaffle is back in play…it's Vaisey…no…Weasley and Bell have him in a Body Blow…will he—no he loses the quaffle and it's intercepted by Thomas! …Slytherin's beaters are on him with the Dopplebeater Defence, but Thomas manages to avoid the bludger…look out there! …Thomas _scores!_ …the teams are now tied at 10 all…the snitch is nowhere in sight as the seekers seem to be circling the pitch aimlessly…we might be in this one for the long haul, ladies and gentlemen…"

So went the match for the next two hours, Gryffindor and Slytherin trading score for score. As the third hour began, Slytherin led Gryffindor 120 to 100.

"Oh, my! Glapion-Shacklebolt is _standing on her broomstick!_ …she leaps, thrusting the quaffle towards the goal It's the Chelmondiston Charge! …Weasley hangs out the Starfish and Stick—that's a tricky move, but _it works!_ The Quaffle is blocked! …not to be outdone, Glapion-Shacklebolt dives for the Quaffle…Merlin! That was a close one, but she pulls out of the dive just in time! …we are in our _fourth_ hour of the match and the score is Slytherin 190, Gryffindor 340…just a moment! …Potter just dove in front of the Slytherin goalpost…does he see the snitch? …and now Malfoy is bearing down hard! …OH! Careful there! …Malfoy rolls to avoid a bludgers…it's Potter…now Malfoy…both seekers are climbing from the center of the pitch and into the clouds…with both keepers fending off every scoring drive, it's anybody's game now! …"

Harry and Draco emerged from the clouds, in shoulder to shoulder pursuit of the elusive snitch as it zoomed around the outer perimeter of the pitch. The roar of the crowds and the whoosh of wind in their ears was deafening. Suddenly the snitch zig-zagged and shot upwards. Both Seekers were stretched out close to their broomsticks as they gave chase. The golden ball glinted in the sunlight and changed directions again. Draco and Harry arced in different directions and looped around heading straight for one another as the snitch descended several feet and hovered over the center of the pitch just below the game play.

" _Merlin's left eye!_ Malfoy and Potter are headed straight for one another! Neither Seeker shows any intention of slowing down! …what's this? Malfoy has both hands out in front of him…wait—what? …he grabs the end of Potter's broom and swings him around…is that legal? …there's no whistle from Hooch…but where's the snitch? …wait, is it—YES! Malfoy has caught the snitch! The game is over! The game is over! …and the final score is Slytherin 340…and Gryffindor 350 with an amazing Dionysus Dive by Ginny Weasley just ahead of the capture of the snitch! What a match, ladies and gentlemen! What a match! Gryffindor wins the Cup! Gryffindor wins the Cup! This has been one of the most well-played matches in the history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The exhausted teams landed on the center of the pitch and dismounted their brooms. Draco clutched the snitch in his hand and led his dejected team across the field where they shook hands with the Gryffindors. A surprised murmur could be heard from many of the school's former students as they watched the two teams which had always been bitter rivals in their youth respectfully commending one another on a game well played.

Épiphanie trudged into her dressing room and flicked her wand towards the shower. She peeled off her Quidditch robes and carefully pinned up her hair before she stepped into the steaming water. The long match meant that the ball would commence almost immediately. She quickly bathed and lingered just long enough for the heat to relieve some of the tension in her overworked muscles before stepping out. She was quite excited to don the robes that Madame Malkin had designed especially for the members of both teams to wear to the ball. Instead of a fussy gown with petticoats and tiny buttons, hers was an ensemble with military flair. First, there was a white blouse with a high ruffled collar and fitted sleeves with French cuffs fastened with links that bore the Slytherin crest. A pair of shimmering dragon hide breeches that hugged every curve of her legs sported triple silver buttons at each ankle and held in place the stirrups that passed under the heel of her ankle boots of the same material. Over the blouse, she wore a fitted silver waistcoat, with covered buttons and finally her robes of Slytherin green. They were tailored through the waist then flared into a flattering skirt that fell to the floor. A double row of sixteen silver buttons adorned the front of the robes and a brooch of the Slytherin crest that matched the cufflinks adorned epaulets on each shoulder.

When they assembled in The Entrance Hall, she saw that Ginny and Katie wore similar robes in scarlet and gold. Theirs consisted of single-breasted full-length robes with gold frog button closures down the front and elaborate gold trim about the turned cuffs. The Gryffindor girls wore khaki jodhpurs and dragon hide ankle boots. Their male counterparts were attired in white blouses under embroidered jerkins—silver for Slytherin and gold for Gryffindor. Each had the house crest embroidered on the back in stunning detail. To these were fastened matching capes that hung to the floor. The males wore black leather breeches and knee boots in patent leather.

Both teams lined up in The Entrance Hall with their escorts. A great fanfare rang out from inside The Great Hall and the massive doors swung open. The house tables had been replaced with round banquet tables on either side of a wide aisle and draped in the various school colors. The walls were festooned with banners boasting the Hogwarts heraldry. An orchestra was set up on the raised platform where the staff table was usually located and two columns shrouded in fabric stood several feet high on each side. The members of each team marched into The Hall to thunderous applause and took up positions on the floor. A waltz began to play and the couples whirled around the floor in a dizzying swirl of cloaks and capes. After the first dance, the members of the teams were joined by their classmates and the special guests. Épiphanie happily took her turn around the floor with her father, only mildly annoyed by the attentions of numerous photojournalists who snapped their pictures.

As the hour moved on toward ten, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and raised her hands for the crowd's attention. The students looked at one another curiously as the orchestra began to pack up behind her.

"At this time, I am afraid that the dance is now restricted to OWL level students and above along with their escorts. All first through fourth year students are directed to return to their common rooms." A general groan of disappointment issued forth from those students who were not fortunate enough to be asked to the ball by an older student as they reluctantly exited the Hall. A good number of the adults also chose to depart at this time.

"But the orchestra's gone!" she heard someone exclaim. Suddenly the shrouds covering the two columns to each side of the platform were whisked away revealing towers of speakers. Épiphanie's mouth dropped open as she watched a deejay booth appear between them and Donovan Mackey stepped up to the turntables. The pureblood and many half-blood wizards stared in confusion as a hum of excitement and surprise issued from the muggleborn students. Then a deafening boom of bass rumbled through the hall as the wizarding world was introduced to hip hop.

"You did this!" Épiphanie declared as Draco pulled her into the mass of muggleborn students rushing the dance floor. He laughed and twirled her around wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her back against his chest.

"I had a little help from a friend," he replied thumbing in Harry's direction. "Professor Flitwick helped us with the charm to make it all work."

"This is da bomb!" she squealed.

By the time Donovan had spun the first three songs, the pureblood wizards and witches gathered up enough courage to join their schoolmates on the floor and tentatively tried to match their foreign dance moves. Donovan easily mixed hip hop, dance and reggae tracks for an eclectic set that had his fellow students shedding cloaks and hiking up skirts as the body heat spiked in the massive hall. Several circles were made around students vying to be the best dancers in their houses. When the dance finally closed just after midnight there was still a buzz in the air as the sweaty, exhausted students straggled back to their dormitories.

"Best…night…ever!"

"Muggle music is _amazing!_ "

"How did they pull it off? I wonder who the benefactors were…"

"I'll bet Shacklebolt had something to do with it…"

"Did you see the way Malfoy was dancing with her?"

"…That's one lucky Slytherin!"

"…some wizards have all the luck!"

"So glad I came back for this year!"

"I _love_ magic!"


	39. Remembrance

**_Remembrance_**

 _...though he were dead, yet shall he live..._

Breakfast the next morning was a particularly subdued affair. Drowsy upper level students straggled in and listlessly picked over their food, glaring at their more rested younger contemporaries who pestered them with questions about the dance as they ate.

"I think y'all might have overdone it just a bit. These guys ain't ready for a party like that," Épiphanie smirked as she watched Blaise nodding over his breakfast. He snapped his eyes open just before his face fell into his eggs. She laughed. "To _think!_ Blaise Zabini consorting to _muggle music!_ What would his mother say?" She snickered. He looked at her and rolled his eyes. "Coffee, Blaise?" She indicated her French coffee press. He looked wary beneath heavy eyelids.

"It's not poison, man. Take it as an olive branch," said Draco. He raised his own cup.

"I'm fine, thank you very much."

They shrugged and turned back to their breakfasts just as a house elf appeared and tugged at Bill Weasley's arm. He whispered in the professor's ear and the red-haired man leapt to his feet, dashing from The Hall. Ron and Ginny hurriedly left their seats and ran after him. They returned a few moments later, wearing large grins, and began an excited conversation with Harry and Hermione.

"I guess there will be _another_ Weasley arriving into the world in a few hours," Draco commented, pouring more coffee. Épiphanie nudged his shoulder with her own. "Kidding! Bill said that they adored the hippogriff mobile that I gifted them."

"You _did?_ " she exclaimed.

"Always the tone of surprise." He pursed his lips. "McGonagall and The Minister are leaving the head table with Akingbade. I guess it's time to head out. He took her hand and escorted her out to the castle grounds where several rows of chairs were arranged in an arching semicircle facing a dais that was set ahead of a tall structure covered in a drape. They walked down the center aisle to the front row where Épiphanie had a reserved seat just beyond The Order of the Phoenix. Draco took a seat a few rows behind the invited dignitaries and award recipients.

The ceremony was a somber and dignified one with Professor McGonagall being awarded the Order of Merlin First Class. Andromeda Tonks accepted the posthumous honor on behalf of Remus Lupin and Draco felt a tug of guilt as he watched his aunt struggle to maintain emotional control as she shook the Minister's hand. After a number of speeches from high-ranking ministry officials, the memorial was unveiled. The black marble obelisk was carved with the names of all of the wizards, beings and beasts who gave their lives in the resistance against the Dark Lord and the Battle of Hogwarts. The carved names stood out in stark white against the stone. Quiet sobs and sniffles could be heard as the crowd observed a moment of silence and four fliers soared overhead on broomsticks trailing clouds in the colors of each house. Finally, the ceremony concluded with all of the wizards in attendance standing with wands raised in salute. The names on the monument glowed bright gold for a few seconds and returned to their cool white hue.

Students, parents and guests lingered, some searching for the names of their beloved on the monument. Others sharing bittersweet memories of those they lost. Draco sat alone with his eyes closed as he waited for Épiphanie, who was occupied with attending a receiving line. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Andromeda smiling down at him as she held a green-haired Teddy Lupin in her arms.

"Auntie 'Dromeda." He stood.

"It is good to see you, Draco. For a moment, I thought you were Lucius."

"Oh, Father is—" he faltered.

"I know. Your mother wrote me a little while ago. I understand that she is abroad."

"Yes, ma'am. Spain now, I believe. I was unaware that you and Mother were in contact."

"Well, until I received her letter, we hadn't spoken since Mother and Father disowned me. With all that's happened, I hope that we can rebuild what is left of our family."

"That would be nice." He ran a hand over his hair. Teddy squealed and his hair turned pale blond to match his cousin's. Draco chuckled and tweaked the baby's nose. Andromeda smiled. "Clever little thing, aren't you?"

Épiphanie approached Draco, but hung back when she realized that he was deep in conversation with the older witch who'd accepted the award for Remus Lupin. She was holding a baby who sported hair as pale as Draco's. Were they related? Suddenly the child's hair turned bright blue. She stared in awe.

"Wow! Just when I thought I'd seen everything!" she quietly exclaimed. Draco turned to her then.

"Auntie, I'd like to introduce you to Épiphanie Glapion-Shacklebolt." He held out his hand to her. "Épiphanie, this is my aunt, Andromeda Tonks."

"Good morning, ma'am."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young lady." She took Épiphanie's hand and shook it lightly. Teddy gurgled and his hair changed once more. This time curls sprouted about his face and it turned a raven color similar to Épiphanie's. She laughed.

"Look at you!" she declared.

"This little beast is my cousin, Edward Lupin."

" _Beast?_ Never! Hey there, little cutie pie!" she giggled. Teddy gave her a toothless grin and reached out for her. She took him into his arms and tickled him under his chin. He squealed and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

"Well, it seems that you have certainly made quite an impact on our little enclave of the wizarding world. And perhaps my nephew as well?" Andromeda winked at Draco. He blushed mightily.

"I'm not terribly sure about that, ma'am, but we're both definitely learning new things." Épiphanie bounced Teddy on her hip.

"There's no need to be modest, my child. It's clear to anyone with two eyes that you have something special. When it's real, love can be a great adventure!" Andromeda took Teddy back into her arms. "Well, it's nearly time for someone's nap! Miss Glapion-Shacklebolt, it was a pleasure to have met you. Draco." She turned to go.

"Auntie 'Dromeda?" Draco placed a hand on her arm. "If there's anything you need—or Edward…"

She smiled at him and patted his cheek gently. "The past is done and gone, my dear." She looked over his shoulder at Épiphanie _. "Live!_ "


	40. All Over But the Shouting

**_All Over But the Shouting_**

With the memorial over, the students of Hogwarts were once again focused on the final weeks of school, which seemed to slip ever quickly past them. O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students buried themselves once again in their studies and professors increased the volume and complexity of assignments. It was a rare moment that the monotony of revision and lecture was broken by any excitement. As the final week before examinations approached, all of tables in The Great Hall were filled with listless students and open books propped on bowls and juice pitchers. When the post arrived, a general murmur of gratitude for a break in their routine floated up as eyes turned in the hopes of spotting a familiar bird.

Draco gave his owl a few treats and took the day's paper from him. He opened the paper and turned to the sports section. He scanned the page quickly and looked up, meeting Harry's eyes across the room. Harry gave him a thumbs up.

"What are you so excited about?" Épiphanie asked, leaning to read the headlines on the page.

 _Department of Magical Games and Sports Approves Expansion Clubs for British and Irish Quidditch League_

 _"_ _In the midst of what has certainly shaping up to become a contentious Quidditch season, The Department of Magical Games and Sports Announced four new expansion clubs which will be admitted to the British and Irish Quidditch League. The new clubs will be officially added to the rotation next season. Scouts and owners have already begun negotiations with existing teams for trades, as well as recruiting players among the teams at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The new clubs include:_

 _Cushendall Chimaera_

 _Edinburgh Eagles_

 _Inverness Thestrals_

 _Wiltshire Dragons_

 _We expect to learn the rosters of the new clubs as early as August."_

"Wiltshire—that's where Malfoy Manor is—are you thinking of trying out?" Épiphanie asked. She gasped. "Have you been _scouted?_ "

An excited squeal rang out on the other side of The Great Hall. She looked up to see Ginny jumping up and down waving a parchment. Harry, Ron and Hermione all hugged her. Several students turned in their direction, and eventually the news found its way to the Slytherin table. The Harpies had offered her a trial.

A number of large owls swooped into The Hall and landed at the tables, one stopping in front of Épiphanie and bearing an official-looking envelope. She took it from the owl and looked at it curiously. Draco rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Well, open it!" he insisted.

"What is this?" She opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment. The page bore an official letterhead of the Wiltshire Dragons. Two dragons, one gold and one green, entwined about a large W.

"What does it say?" Draco pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Dear Ms. Duminy de Glapion-Shacklebolt,

Your style of play is both skillful and exciting to watch, and our scouts were most impressed with your recent performance at the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup match. As such, the Wiltshire Dragons are prepared to offer you a two-year contract with a starting salary of 100,000 galleons. Attached, you will find a copy of the contract for your perusal. We look forward to hearing from you very soon.

Sincerely,

Corbin Baxter, General Manager

Draco Malfoy, Owner

Harry Potter, Owner"

Épiphanie flipped the page and briefly glanced at the contract, before turning to look at Draco.

"Owner? You and Harry? So this is your other secret? You bought a Quidditch team?"

"Well, we didn't buy the team. We organized it and applied for admittance to the league. We've hired staff, cleared land on the southern end of the estate for the arena and construction of the facilities is nearly complete. It's what I'd been so busy with after the break. Harry and I were recruiting players. We've already gotten commitments from Vaisey and Harper. Harry even managed to sign Ritchie Cootes as beater. We're holding trials in July for the remaining spots and reserve players. I saw the request for proposals in the Prophet while you were in America, and I brought the idea to Harry as an investor."

"Oh, wow. You really were busy." Épiphanie's voice lacked enthusiasm. "What about you and Harry? You're both Seekers."

"Harry is merely an investor. He's had his heart set on becoming an Auror for quite some time now. As for me…" Draco shrugged. "I don't know. It depends on what kind of talent we find at the trials."

"Oh."

"You don't sound excited," Draco pulled away from her and studied her face.

"Well, it's a generous offer. I just—I guess I have to think about it."

"But—"

"Baby, don't. I'm not turning you down. There's just so much going on right now with exams coming up and the end of term." She gave him a smile and kissed his cheek. "I just need to think about it, okay?"

* * *

"She turned you down? _Really?_ " Ron exclaimed. He and Draco exited the castle and headed towards the Quidditch pitch. It was the final day of examinations and they were quite grateful to be finished.

"Well, not in so many words, no. She said she had to think about it. Are you sure you won't consider playing Keeper?"

"Ah, no. The offer is quite generous, but I never quite saw myself working for a Malfoy," Ron gave him a soft punch to the shoulder. "Kidding."

* * *

"You're not going to take his offer?" Ginny stared at Épiphanie incredulously. They sat beside the fountain in the Clock Tower courtyard.

"I don't know, Ginny. Last year this time, I thought I'd still be in high school and thinking about what college I wanted to attend. Don't you think it's all happening too fast?"

"He asked you to play Quidditch, not marry him!" Ginny's eyes grew wide. " _Did_ he ask you to marry him?"

"No!" Épiphanie waved her hand dismissively. "You don't think that's what he has in mind, do you?"

"You know, for someone who is supposed to be as good a legilimens as you are, I can't believe that you've missed it!" Ginny declared.

"I haven't missed anything, I've just been trying to mind my business. Power corrupts, you know."

"More than you can imagine," the red-haired witch replied. "But Draco is mad for you. I'm sure that he did all this just for you. It's something positive that keeps him going. He's _more_ than wealthy enough to spend the rest of his days in leisure if he wanted to, but he knows that's not a lifestyle that would appeal to you. I overheard him talking to Harry. He wants to prove to you that he is worthy of your love."

"I know that, but—" Épiphanie sighed. "Draco _is_ worthy of me. He just doesn't believe in _himself._ "

* * *

"Be honest, man. You want to marry her, don't you?" Ron sprawled on the bleachers where they sat atop one of the Quidditch towers.

"I—erm…" Draco shrugged.

"You're afraid of Kingsley, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm certain that he hasn't completely forgiven me for the whole New Orleans affair. Then there's the fact that the entire world still views me as a Death Eater." Draco absently rubbed his wrist as he spoke.

"Is it still there?"

"Just a faded scar now, but…"

"So, this whole professional Quidditch thing is a new start? Is it really what you want, Draco? I seem to recall your rather inauspicious start in the sport." Ron rubbed his fingers together.

"Be that as it may, _King_ Weasley," Draco raised a brow. "I really do love the sport. It's how Épiphanie and I really got our start. It's how we connected. And it doesn't have the taint of Lucius' dirty dealings. I may be able to build a team with a first-class pitch and training grounds, but I can't buy a championship. That requires hard work and ambition. If there's one thing that Lucius instilled in me, it's the desire to be the best. It's probably the true reason that I was so horrid to Hermione. She was so much better than I—at nearly everything." He slumped back, resting his elbows on the bench behind him. "If she doesn't sign that contract, I don't know what I'll do."

"You'll keep going. The same as we have done for the past eight years. If you can go on after all that we have been through, all that we have seen and suffered, it means that you are _alive,_ Malfoy. Never take that for granted. Harry isn't the only boy who lived."

* * *

Épiphanie ran a hand lightly over the green Quidditch robes hanging in her dressing area. She couldn't believe that a year ago, she didn't even know that the sport existed, that she was really a witch, that she would ever know her father, that she would be one of the most famous witches in the world, that she would be head over heels in love. In love? Yes, she was madly in love with Draco. Yet, this wasn't the future that she had had in mind. What _did_ she have in mind? College? That was a given. A career? In what she honestly didn't know. Had she expected to be reading fortunes for the rest of her life? Becoming the Voodoo Queen? In this moment, Épiphanie couldn't even imagine it.

"What do I do?" she whispered.

 _When you are ready to accept the answer, you will recognize that you always knew it._

"Épiphanie? Are you alright?" Draco's face swam in her eyes and came into focus.

"What?" She shook her head.

"You look faint." His grey eyes were full of concern as he guided her to a chair and knelt in front of her.

"I, uh—" She looked at him curiously. "I guess I shouldn't have skipped lunch to study for that last exam."

"No, that was probably a bad idea. Aren't you fortunate that I was here to catch you before you fell?" he smiled, reaching into the pocket of his robes and retrieving a green apple. "Here." He offered her the fruit.

"An apple? From a Slytherin?" she smiled. "Is it safe?" She took a bite and juice dribbled down her chin. Draco wiped it away with his thumb and licked it. He returned he smile.

"Better?"

"I'm getting there. What were you doing lurking around the Ladies' dressing room?"

"I was looking for you. Ginny said she thought you were headed down here for your broom."

"Well, you found me." She took another bite of the apple.

"I just wanted to—" Draco faltered. He wanted to ask her if she'd made a decision about the contract, but that would spoil the mood, and he didn't want to fight right now. "I just wanted to spend a little time with you alone. It's our last night at school." He placed a hand on her knee, his fingers sliding over the silky fabric of her stockings.

"If I were at home, we'd have already finished the term, but I'd still have a year of school to go. I had planned to take my ACT this summer." She placed a hand over his fingers.

"What's an ACT?" he asked, linking their fingers together.

"Sort of like N.E.W.T.s. You need passing scores to get into college."

Draco pulled her out of the chair and onto his knees. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, cupping his hands beneath her bottom. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dropped the apple core as she wrapped her arms about his neck, twining her fingers in his hair.

"Is that what you want? …To go to university?" he whispered, kissing her neck. Épiphanie's pulse quickened and she let out a protracted sigh.

"I—ahhh," she whispered. She was at a loss for words and let her head hang back, rolling her hips close to his. The lanterns around the rooms dimmed as their magical passion intensified. She closed her eyes and focused on Draco.

 _Ma Zirondelle, let not your mind be vexed. Just be with me, please._

Draco slipped his hands under her jumper and tugged at her shirt. She loosened his tie. In moments, they were entwined with one another in a tantric embrace. He held her eyes in his gaze as they moved in concert.

 _I don't want to die, my love. I just want to live forever in your embrace. In your eyes._

"Draco…" she whispered breathlessly.

 _I love you with my very being._

"Draco…"

 _You are my holy intuition._

"Draco…"

 _You complete me._

* * *

A solemn air settled about Hogwarts Castle that evening. The seventh year students and those who had returned to complete their unfinished seventh year appeared subdued as they arrived in The Great Hall for dinner. The professors were similarly thoughtful as they sat down to dine. It was evident that the thoughts of many were in a different place in time, mulling over regrets, those that they had lost, their hopes for the future. Minerva McGonagall surveyed the students seated before her. On the faces of many, there seemed to be the same awestruck expressions that she had observed when they first set foot into the castle.

Draco and Épiphanie held hands throughout the meal. On the other side of The Hall, Hermione rested her head on Ron's shoulder, eyes shining with unshed tears. Harry and Ginny also held tightly to one another. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan sat with their shoulders pressed together. She watched as Neville Longbottom left the Gryffindor table and joined Hannah Abbott and the Hufflepuffs. Minerva pursed her lips and looked to the grand doors where for just a moment she saw a gathering of spirits. Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Cedric Diggory, and Fred Weasley stood looking up at the staff table. They were beckoned by Severus, Remus and Nymphadora, and the entire band of ephemeral figures disappeared as they turned away.

"Minerva?" Madame Pomfrey's voice held a note of concern as The Headmistress sniffed.

"I am quite alright, Poppy." She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes.

"They only came to say farewell." The Matron dabbed at her eyes.

The next day, the excitement that usually accompanied the commencement ceremony was muted, but there was yet an air of reflection and hopefulness upon the faces of the graduates as they boarded the boats that had ferried them across the lake on their first night—a night that seemed ages past. As they drifted across the peaceful waters, they all looked over their shoulders at the imposing castle that had made such an impact upon their young lives.

* * *

Draco and Harry landed and dismounted their brooms on the winding path that meandered through Narcissa's award-winning roses. Harry followed Draco through the conservatory and up to his study.

"The brooms are excellent. I know Firebolt is over the moon to have your endorsement. Having the team debut the _Potter Elite_ racing line was certainly a master stroke. The pitch looks great, don't you think?" asked Draco. He went to the sideboard and poured a class of brandy, offering Harry a drink. He shook his head.

"I quite like the cantilevered seating design between the towers. It rather reminds me of the muggle football arenas and incorporating the vines into the supporting structure and blending it with the surrounding woods was a stroke of genius."

"Your idea to create a residential village for the players was brilliant. I don't think any of the other clubs have such a setup." Draco sipped his brandy and took a seat at the desk. "There's a cottage for you as well, Harry. I know that you have Grimmauld Place and you'll be away for Auror training by the time we begin training camp, but I thought it might be more comfortable than…I—I understand why you might not want to stay at the Manor when you're in here." There was a momentary shift in the tone of the conversation before Harry responded.

"I see that you've made some changes to the house." Harry indicated the silvery grey damask wallpaper that adorned the walls of the study which brightened the room's dark paneling and reflected the light from the tall arched windows. "What does Narcissa think of the alterations?"

"Mother has decided to make Spain her permanent residence. She owled me from our villa in Aragon." Draco drained his glass. "She's invited Auntie 'Dromeda and Edward to visit for the summer."

"Teddy will like that," Harry replied. Draco nodded, his eyes vacant. Harry regarded him sympathetically. "No word from Épiphanie?"

"She hasn't signed yet."

"Should I have a word? The rosters are due next week. We'll need to make a decision on the last chaser position. Offer it to the best reserve."

"No," Draco sighed. He turned the stem of the brandy snifter in his fingertips. "Let's give it one more day. If she hasn't owled her signed contract, then we'll see if Gilbert Kipling is still looking to leave the Magpies."

"Well, I heard that they sacked Maddock after the whole 'snitch kick' debacle."

"The man's an imbecile!" Draco declared. "Are you certain Ginny can't be swayed to join us?"

"Not a chance. Ron says she's had her heart set upon becoming a Harpy since Fred and George first sneaked her onto a broom." The clock in the corner chimed the hour. "Merlin! The Auror department has called a meeting for all trainees at the Ministry this evening. I should be going."

"I'll be in touch." Draco stood and the two wizards shook hands, thinking to himself once again how remarkable it was that he should be friends and business partners with the man who was once his sworn childhood enemy.

He saw him back to the gardens where Harry mounted his broom to fly to the Quidditch facility's apparition point, and returned to his study. Draco poured another brandy and carefully studied a number of business parchments. He sorted the most urgent ones and set the others aside to be reviewed at his leisure. He realized that he really needed to hire a secretary when the clock chimed the hour and he saw that it was well after dark. Pippy appeared and bowed low to the floor.

"What is it, Pippy?" he rubbed his eyes and flicked his wand to brighten the lights.

"Master Draco, sir. You has a visitor in the foyer," she squeaked.

"In the foyer?" he started, pushing his chair away from the desk abruptly. "Pippy!" The elf cringed nervously. "Never mind!" he rose quickly and strode down the hall to the staircase.

Who could have passed the gate to be admitted to the house? Narcissa had not informed him that she would be returning home. Besides, Pippy would not have announced her mistress as a 'visitor.' The only other person he'd charmed the gates to recognize was—Draco stopped on the landing at the turn in the stairs. He gazed with disbelief at the statuesque profile, his breath hitching.

"Please tell me that this is not a dream," he whispered. "Is it really you?" He stood rooted to the spot.

She turned and looked up at him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." She spoke softly.

"I—you're—"

"I never gave you your graduation gift," she said, holding out a small box.

Finally, Draco was able to command feet to move. He stumbled down the last flight of stairs and stood awkwardly before her. She offered him the leather box and he removed te lid. Nestled on a velvet pad was a pair of gold cufflinks with jewels that looked remarkably like the bright green eyes of a reptile. When he inspected them more closely, he realized that the pupils were in fact dragons!

"I found them when I was in New York. Ironic, huh?" she chuckled. "I thought you might like to wear them to your first press conference."

"And I'd thought I was successful in keeping my secret from you. They're quite unique. You really have a divinatory talent, my beloved." He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"Épiphanie, I—" he began. She placed a finger over his lips.

"There's one more." A rolled parchment tied with a silver ribbon appeared in her hand. Draco stared as she held it out to him. Dare he hope? He looked from it to her. "You want my arm to fall off?"

He willed his hands not to shake as he took the parchment and unrolled it, holding his breath as he quickly scanned to the bottom of the contract where he saw her delicately penned signature.

"I'm not too late, am I?" she asked, biting her lip. Their eyes met and a genuine smile crept across Draco's face.

"No. No, never, my darling." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

"I should tell you that I did request two amendments to my rider," she said when they finally parted.

"Did you now?"

"Barring any scheduled matches, I spend Mardi Gras and Christmas in America."

Draco laughed. "I think we can accommodate that!" He kissed her again. "Will you join me for dinner?"

"I'd like that." She smiled, taking his hand. He called for Tickety to set another place.

"I have to warn you, Grandfather's portrait can be a bit discourteous. He's of the old mind regarding muggles and muggle ways. I'm _seriously_ considering relocating it to the carriage house…"


	41. Epilogue

The tropical January sun shone brightly upon the wedding party gathered on the white sand beach watching the besotted couple take their vows. Épiphanie smiled broadly at Draco, the light ocean breeze playing at the tendrils of her braided hair. He gave her a wink.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride." The officiant's voice was bright as he spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to present Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley Shacklebolt!"

The guests tossed white rose petals over the heads of Kingsley and Angelique as they made their way up the aisle to the gardens of the expansive Victorian home where a lavish reception was laid. As Maid of Honor, Épiphanie was escorted by Harry and Ron escorted Hermione, the guests rounding out the procession to the feast. Harry clapped Draco on the back as he turned Épiphanie over to him and took Ginny's hand.

"So, this is a muggle wedding?" Draco took her arm and escorted her to the elaborately decorated marquee where the wedding party assembled for the first dance.

"More or less," she replied. "How does it compare to a wizard wedding?"

" _Much_ less talking, and no communion. Of course there's magic involved," he shrugged.

"Naturally. I'd like to see that. Maybe when Ron and Hermione or Harry and Ginny tie the knot."

"Are you not planning to marry, milady?" Draco asked, pulling her close as the music slowed.

"Well, I seem to be quite occupied with a full practice and match schedule with the burgeoning new Quidditch team that is making its mark on magical sports." She arched a brow. " And I _sincerely_ hope that's not what you call a proposal."

"Ma Zirondelle, surely you know by now that a Malfoy would do _much_ better than an offhand aside at your parents' wedding feast." He gave her a look of mock affront.

"And how can you be so sure that I will say 'yes'?"

"Because, my darling, the best stories end with the young lovers living happily ever after." He leaned close and brushed his lips over hers.

"Forever is a long time," she teased. "Do they?"

Draco inclined his head, touching their foreheads together and whispered.

"Always."

* * *

 _**So what happens to Draco and Épiphanie after they left Hogwarts? It gets pretty interesting! Please read my sequel,_ _The Language of Flowers ,_ _to find out!_


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